The Dungeon Books
by MoonTiger5
Summary: AU. What if JK Rowling and Rudyard Kipling met for tea? Harry Potter is adopted by a very different family than the Dursleys, and faces his trials from an unexpected perspective. Slytherin!Harry. Spoilers for all 7 books.
1. A Son For the Joneses

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter One: A Son For the Joneses  
**

Down the street from Number Four Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey, where wondrous events were taking place, Diane Jones bolted awake in Number Nine.

"Irwin!" she shook her husband. "Irwin, do you hear that?"

"Huh? Diane? Dear, what is it?" but Diane had already hastily thrown a coat on and started downstairs. "Diane! You're still on bed rest!"

His wife snorted. "Since when has that kept either of us?"

Sighing, he too went into combat mode, and followed his determined wife outside, taking care to make no noise as they crept along toward whatever had pulled Diane out of her analgesics-induced slumber.

Any other man or woman would have frozen in fear or bewilderment, but Irwin and Diane Jones did not. Throwing themselves to the ground beside the bushes in front of Number Five, the couple silently observed as a long-bearded man turned off all the street lights with a lighter-seeming device, a small tabby cat became a woman, and a giant arrived in a flying motorcycle, bearing in his arms… a baby?

Though she very much wanted to scream in outrage, Diane Jones repressed her emotions as she had done countless times in her career as a combat nurse. She and her husband waited until the strangers departed, and then rushed stealthily toward the front porch of Number Four. In an instant Diane had swept the sleeping child onto her arms, and turned back toward her own house.

Irwin remained silent until they were inside their own home.

"Diane…"

His wife cut him off.

"Don't, Irwin. Whoever and however powerful they were, they abandoned an innocent baby. I won't abet such a crime. Especially knowing that I will never bear my own."

Irwin sighed, and then took the envelope that peeked from the infant's blankets. He read the missive carefully before handing it to Diane.

"I never thought I would see the conspiracy theorists proven right. But Diane, if I read this correctly, then this child would be better off with the folks at Number Four."

Diane shook her head emphatically.

"No. It speaks here of love as the foundation for this child's protection. The Dursleys being his relatives is a mere technicality. Just like his birth parents lay down their lives for him, so will we if it comes to that." She looked pointedly at her husband, who capitulated with a smile, and sat down beside his wife, reaching a hand to the baby's brow.

"Very well. Be welcome into our lives and hearts, Harry James Potter Jones."

* * *

Ever since that fateful All Hallows Eve, the Jones home was full of the laughter and joy Diane and Irwin had long yearned for and nearly given up hope of achieving. Diane had miscarried the only two times she had conceived, and her and Irwin's age precluded any further attempts. Having devoted their lives to active military service, they had not given thought to surviving long enough for settling down until retirement stared them in the face. Life had granted them a reprieve and then an extraordinary blessing in the person of their beloved Harry, and they responded accordingly, bestowing all their love and experience on their son.

One day little Harry came home with a summons from the school principal, complaining that the boy had been found on the school's roof.

"I swear Dad, I didn't mean to. Dudley and Piers and their other friends were after me, and I just wanted somewhere to hide."

Irwin frowned.

"Son, how long have they been bothering you?"

"It usually isn't too bad, just practical jokes and that kind of thing…"

"Has this happened to any other children?"

"Oh yeah, we all know to not provoke them."

Irwin remained silent, and finally took a deep breath.

"Harry, I will ground you, but I want you to understand why. No one, and I mean absolutely no one, has the right to bully you. You must come to me or your mother immediately if anything like this ever happens again. And it's time you learn some personal defense techniques, in case of emergencies."

Harry lowered his head.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I will remember to come to you or Mum."

The next day, the school principal bore the brunt of Diane and Irwin's ire for her inaction regarding bullies. As a result, other bullied children spoke to their parents, and the families came forward with the complaints. At the end of the school year, the principal was dismissed, following the revelation that she had accepted bribes from several parents in exchange for overlooking their children's questionable behavior.

* * *

Another time, during a visit to the zoo, Harry stood transfixed before an exhibit in the reptile house.

"_I bet that's annoying… having all these people staring at you every day, expecting you to perform tricks like you have nothing better to do with your time._"

The large serpent nodded. "_Indeed._"

Harry jumped, startled, and looked around for the source of the voice. "_Who said that?_"

The serpent approached the glass and rose upon its coils. "_Here, young human._"

Harry rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

"_You can understand me?_"

"_Yes._"

"_How awesome!_" He looked at exhibit sign, which read, Boa constrictor, native to Brazil. "_Is it nice in Brazil?_"

"_I have never been._" The animal jabbed its tail at the sign, which also indicated, Bred in captivity.

"_I'm sorry… wonder if I could help?_"

No sooner had Harry said the words than the glass vanished, and the reptile made for the exit at top speed, hissing his thanks. Of course, the event generated a pandemonium.

"SILENCE!" Harry winced at his father's parade voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, the animal is inoffensive. Just remain still, please. Now, may someone close the door?"

In a whisper, Irwin addressed his son. "Harry, would you retrieve your new friend? Discreetly, please."

Harry, trembling as he recognized the cold tone of disappointment, bent down on all fours and started searching. He found the serpent staring moodily at the closed door.

"_Sorry, pal. You need to come with me. Please?_"

"_Only for you, young human. That large one is angry_."

"_That's my sire. He is displeased that I freed you._"

"_Then I will help you, as you helped me._" The animal allowed Harry to carry him, draped across his shoulders like a scarf.

Hours later, a tearful Harry clung to his mother, blubbering his apologies. Irwin and Diane had taken their son to return the snake, and asked one of the keepers to lecture Harry on the consequences of releasing a wild animal into an alien environment. Heartbroken that his new friend could well have died outside his specially designed habitat, the boy resolutely asked what would his punishment be.

"You have punished yourself already, dear," said Diane. "But I daresay it would benefit you to do some volunteer work here at the zoo." She turned to the handler, who nodded. "We will work out a schedule around your other commitments."

Once at home, it dawned upon Harry that his parents had completely ignored the fact that he could talk to snakes.

"Mum, Dad? Did you see what I did?"

Diane nodded. "You acted unwisely, dear."

Harry flinched, but Irwin shook his head. "No, son; now you know better. You heard Mr. Malcolm. Snakes and many other wild animals are often misunderstood, and mistreated. You also saw the spontaneous reaction of the public at the zoo."

Irwin held his son's eyes until understanding widened them.

* * *

Harry's volunteer work at the zoo gained him many friends, human and otherwise. It also gained him the opportunity to adopt a new family member.

"Mum, Dad, come see, come see!"

"What is it, dear?"

Harry held out his hands, from where a small triangular head peeked out.

"Mr. Malcolm said I could keep her! She's a baby rock python." He pointed behind him, where a handcart stood, loaded with supplies.

Diane smiled. "Excellent, Harry. Does she have a name?"

Harry hissed at his hands for a moment, then nodded happily. "She likes to be called Tomoe."

Diane nodded to the young reptile, "Welcome to the family, Miss Tomoe," before turning to her son. "You know, dear, you're just like Mowgli. Only instead of Kaa, you have Tomoe."

Harry's face lit with wonder, remembering the Jungle Book stories his parents read him every so often before bedtime.

Diane chuckled. "Hadn't noticed the parallels, eh? Well, pay closer attention from now on, and let's see what else you can learn."


	2. A New Trail

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter 2: A New Trail**

Harry followed his mother's advice. As the years passed, he added the clues until the truth blazed on his mind. There were scores of instances of strange occurrences involving him. Each time, Irwin and Diane responded imperturbably, focusing on important life lessons. They serenely downplayed the extraordinary (Diane even taught his son to cover his scar with makeup), giving him no chance to think of himself as too different from every other child he knew. They insisted on discipline, hard work, and strong ethics, which came naturally to the two former soldiers. At the same time, they encouraged him to broaden his horizons—reading and learning beyond school requirements, traveling extensively during holidays, making acquaintances beyond the usual boundaries of age and location. Irwin and Diane were preparing him for a day when everything would change.

* * *

One evening after supper, he sat in the living room with Tomoe wrapped around his shoulders and the battered copy of the Jungle Books on his lap, and broached the subject rather bluntly.

"I'm adopted, aren't I?"

Diane's usually serene visage openly showed a mix of glowing pride and great sadness.

"Yes, dear. Why?"

Harry raised the book.

"I've finally put it together. The things I can do; they way you've taught me like I was one of your troopers," he smiled, "albeit much less harshly I bet. But you've never actually said anything."

Irwin answered with a challenge, as was his wont.

"If you think it through, you'll realize why."

Harry shook his head, still smiling.

"I'd rather hear you say it, Dad."

Irwin's face also opened then, shifting with similar emotions as Diane's.

"Because it doesn't matter that we didn't bear you. You're our son in everything but blood. And because until you were of age to ask and to understand, we would not press you."

He looked at his wife, who went to their room, and returned with a letter, which she handed to their son. Harry opened it with trembling hands, and began reading it. When he was finished, his body shook with sobs. Diane and Irwin held him tight, whispering their love until he calmed.

"How are you feeling, son?"

Irwin handed him a glass with water.

"I… I'm angry with these people, Dad. They just left me, and at the Dursleys'! I still remember how Dudley used to treat me. I'd have been miserable growing up with them." Harry took a deep breath. "I'm so happy that you found me first. You're great, Mum, Dad!"

The three (four, counting the stoic Tomoe) fused again in a tight hug. Irwin cleared his throat.

"They'll look for you, son. And you must be ready when they do. After all, you're a celebrity in their world."

"Is that bad?"

Diane snorted.

"It can be terrible, dear, if you're not careful. Oh, yes! Lots of people will think they know you, and expect all sorts of things from you, when in truth they have no idea. When you don't meet their expectations—and no one ever does—some will accept it, but others will hold it against you. And there is always the danger of arrogance and greed, and of bitterness, when you grow weary of it all."

"Then there are your unique circumstances, son. Without doubt, your birth parents were also soldiers, like us before settling down. That you needed such protection as this letter speaks of tells me that war didn't really end—and when hostilities recommence, they'll be sure to draft you."

Harry's mouth tightened.

"How could they, when they forgot me for so long?"

Diane looked at her son levelly.

"Remember Mowgli."

Harry nodded bitterly.

"His adoptive people cast him out and his birth people also. Yet in the end his own feet carried him back to his birth people."

Irwin straightened, his face back to its usual proud serenity.

"But no matter what, his family and loyal friends from both peoples always welcomed him and followed him. And he never wavered from his own trail."

Harry looked solemnly at his parents.

"Then I swear that neither will I."

* * *

When the bird came, out of the mists of a sleepy dawn, Harry thought it was wounded. Tomoe flicked her forked tongue.

"_The winged one is confused. He was sent to one place, but his quarry is elsewhere._"

"_Well, let's see if we can help._"

The owl perched on a shrub in front of Number Nine, and turned its round head. When Harry approached, it extended a foot, to which a letter was bound. Once relieved of its burden, the bird hooted a farewell and flew off. Harry went inside, and found his parents in the sitting room, sipping tea.

"Mum, Dad, they found me."

He handed his parents the letter.

"So the time has come. You feel ready, son?"

"As ready as I'll ever feel, Dad."

"You could postpone returning, dear, if you wish it."

"No, Mum. You've taught me that ignoring a situation only makes things worse in the long run."

Diane smiled.

"So you will not give Shere Khan right of way?"

Irwin continued.

"Nor will you vote him head of the pack?"

Harry chuckled.

"No. I'll snatch the Red Flower and singe his whiskers."

"Don't forget the villagers and their priest, son." Harry smirked.

"Never, Dad."

* * *

The old man was very tall and thin, with long hair and beard. Half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose, framing piercingly blue eyes that seemed to look straight through people. They reminded Harry of Tomoe's; therefore, the searching gaze did not unsettle him. Neither did it disturb the Joneses. Irwin stepped forward to greet the visitor.

"Good morning, sir. I am Irwin Jones; these are my wife Diane and our son Harry. How may we help you?"

The old man blinked in surprise, but then bowed, pointed hat in hand.

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Jones. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of…

Diane interrupted.

"…Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We recognize your name from Harry's acceptance letter. Please, be welcome; join us for tea."

Harry smiled; obviously the old man was caught off guard.

The Joneses ushered Albus Dumbledore to their living room, and Diane served refreshments. Irwin broke the silence.

"So, Professor, it seems we surprised you."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Indeed Mr. Jones. I did not expect to find young Harry here."

Diane smiled.

"Yet here is our son."

Harry rose and offered Dumbledore his hand.

"Harry Potter Jones, at your service, sir."

The old man appraised the youth. Eleven years old, quite healthy and well grown, tanned complexion and slender but muscular frame from outdoors activities, jet-black hair tamed by a skilled haircut, and splendid green eyes shining with intelligence. His posture denoted self-assuredness and assertiveness. The Professor was torn. On one hand, fortune had smiled upon this boy after his parents' tragic end; on the other, this wasn't a youth that would look up to him for leadership. A soft hissing shook the old man from his revelry. He looked closer at Harry, and noticed the serpent wrapped comfortably around the boy's shoulders.

"This is Tomoe, Professor. She greets you as well."

The silence stretched as the old wizard collected his thoughts, and finally sighed.

"You must excuse me. This is all very unexpected."

Diane's eyes flashed.

"You expected to find another person, five houses back. An infant whom you, a lady witch, and a giant gentleman abandoned on the doorstep of one Petunia Dursley, where you hoped blood ties would kindle love and protect him from his birth parents' enemies. Tell me Professor; did you ever meet Mr. and Mrs. Dursley? We have, and their parenting skills are sorely lacking, to say the least. Our son would not have fared well there."

Dumbledore flinched.

"My apologies, Mrs. Jones; there is no doubt that Harry has fared excellently in your and your husband's care."

"Is it the protective magic, then?"

Dumbledore ran his hand down his beard.

"In an extremely astounding way, yes. Even though Harry is not related to you by blood, I can feel the wards around your house… I have never seen such a thing."

Irwin broke his silence.

"Could it have to do with the fact that on the night you abandoned Harry, Diane was still recovering from a second trimester miscarriage, which rendered her barren? To my knowledge so far, neither of us, nor any among our families, possess such abilities as you do; yet that night Diane homed in on Harry as a beacon, and once we held him, I too could feel him as ours."

Dumbledore gaped.

"I see no other possible explanation. It seems young Harry here adopted you as much as you did him."

He sighed, and clapped his hands lightly.

"Well, what's done is done; I can pursue my research at another time. Would you be amenable to accompanying me to Wizarding London?"

Harry chuckled.

"I wondered if you'd ask, Professor."

Tomoe hissed in her human's ear.

"_The old one is impressed. He should be kept so._"

* * *

Harry and his parents had never been to an inn that materialized before their eyes between two previously contiguous buildings, or to a shop-lined street that opened up behind said inn, at the touch of a certain brick sequence on a back wall. Yet they did not gawk at the sights, sounds and smells of busy Diagon Alley. Professor Dumbledore steered them to the appropriate venues where they procured Harry's school equipment, and waited dazedly at the entrance to each, watching as the Joneses behaved like the seasoned travelers they were. Only to one shop did the small family and the Professor enter together. The wand maker was a mysterious man with bright golden eyes that scrutinized Harry from head to toes.

Mr. Ollivander handed Harry a variety of wands in quick succession, obviously expecting a reaction of some kind. Indeed, one wand responded to the youth's touch with a peculiar burst of light, followed by the aromas of forest and glade, the calls of wild creatures, the rushing sound of a cool mountain stream, and the vision of a holly tree where a red and gold bird stood guard. Both Ollivander and the Professor were shaken with awe.

"Holly and phoenix feather..." He choked with emotion. "Incredible! In all these long years, I had not witnessed such a response!"

Dumbledore agreed.

"Mr. Potter Jones is a special wizard, Ollivander."

The wand maker stirred at the name.

"Potter Jones? Harry Potter? How…?"

Harry interrupted.

"Begging your pardon, I prefer Jones, sir."

Ollivander stared thoughtfully at Harry, nodded, and proceeded to inform him that his wand happened to be the twin of the one his birth parents' killer had wielded. Harry said nothing, but stored that bit of information for later contemplation.

* * *

Beside the required textbooks, Harry and his parents purchased several books on Wizarding history and culture. Irwin and Diane approached their son's new adventure as they would a military campaign, and spent the time leading up to their son's departure date poring over the new information together with Harry. Albus Dumbledore's reaction had set off alarm bells in all their minds.

"This Lord Voldemort is my Shere Khan." Harry looked his father in the eyes. "What's it like, to kill an enemy?"

Irwin met his son's gaze unwavering.

"It is a grim and terrible thing that must be done quickly and thoroughly, son. One life for many."

Diane gazed at her son in turn.

"It is sorrowful, but justice is rewarding. Just like Shere Khan for Mowgli. You remember what he did afterward, dear?

"He sang and danced on the tiger's skin. He went mad."

Diane shook her head.

"Not mad, dear. He celebrated his people's freedom, but he also wept at the bitter price. He did that too after leveling the human village. It is not madness, but wisdom, to look death in the face and have nothing to hide, because you embrace all sides of your nature."

"Oh, Mum, Dad! Where would I be without your wisdom?"

Irwin smiled.

"There's no point in asking that, son. But know that we love you, and are proud to be your parents."


	3. Harry's Brothers

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter 3: Harry's Brothers  
**

Harry felt surprisingly calm on the day of his departure for Hogwarts. Part of it was because of all the research, but another part was because he traveled incognito. Also, Tomoe never ceased whispering encouragements and shrewd observations.

Harry chose a window seat on an empty train compartment, which soon enough filled with other students. One of them, a thin, pale, blond boy with gray eyes in a pointed face stared at Harry appraisingly, before addressing him with a sneer.

"And which House will you be in?"

Harry looked at him calmly.

"We won't know until the Sorting. My name is Harry Jones, and yours?"

The blond narrowed his eyes.

"Draco Malfoy. Your surname I don't recognize."

Harry retained his placid demeanor.

"It's Muggle. I do recognize yours, though; it's an honor to meet you."

Malfoy's mouth opened in a snarl.

"You bet it's an honor, mudblood. Get out of here."

"Sorry, but I feel very comfortable just where I am. Though I'm rather disappointed. I expected better manners from one of your station."

At the blond's flush, Harry shook his head. "Listen Draco; this is no way to make an acquaintance. Why don't we try again? Besides, I haven't introduced Tomoe."

The serpent hissed lowly.

"_He is nervous. Tell him I won't bite._"

Harry complied, and watched the gray eyes widen.

"You're a Parselmouth?"

Harry nodded, smiling. The blond smoothed his hair, looking for a way to save face. Harry rescued him.

"Please, no hard feelings. Let's forget the misunderstanding and try again. I'm Harry, honored to meet you."

Draco looked up warily, but finally relaxed and shook the proffered hand.

* * *

Once at their destination, the students exited onto a tiny dark platform, where a giant man beckoned to the first year students. Harry and Draco followed him down a steep narrow path, which opened onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, is windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

The school's magnificence kept many entranced while a tall, stern-faced black-haired witch explained about the four Hogwarts Houses. Many were nervous; one redheaded boy bumped into Draco, which set the blond off. Harry interrupted the tirade before it got out of hand.

"Hey, Draco. He apologized; no need to be rude."

The blond turned, eyes hard.

"He's a Weasley. They're not worth your time."

Harry shook his head.

"What's in a name?" he quoted before turning to the redhead. "I'm Harry. Please excuse Draco, we're all a bit nervous. What's your name?"

"Ronald. You can call me Ron."

Harry smiled and extended his hand.

"Ron it is then."

Harry turned to Draco.

"Come on, Draco."

The blond turned, but did not offer his hand to the redhead.

"Well, if you're going to be like that, don't do it in front of me. Go cool off a bit, Draco; I'll be here with Ron."

As the blond walked away, Ron exploded.

"How can you stand him? All Malfoys are terrible!"

"Ron, I'm new here, and I'm not going to subscribe to stupid prejudices. Draco's rude to strangers, and while that's wrong, so is giving up before the first day's over."

Ron smiled sheepishly.

"You're right. So, you said you're new here. Are you Muggle-born?"

"No, Muggle-raised half-blood. Which is to say, nothing important."

Ron chuckled, and he and Harry talked amicably until Harry's name was called.

* * *

When the tall witch, Professor McGonagall, called Harry's full name, the whole Hall fell silent. Tomoe was amused.

"_Your cover is blown._"

Harry chuckled.

"_That it is, girl. Well, it was good while it lasted._"

The hissing elicited nervous whispers that followed Harry all the way to the stool. When the old, ragged Sorting Hat was placed on Harry's head, Harry felt a determined probing of his mind.

"Ah! I've been expecting you, Mr. Potter."

"Sir Hat, I prefer Jones, if you please. Tell me, sir, what do you seek?"

The hat chuckled.

"Feisty, aren't we? My profound apologies, Mr. Jones. In order to Sort you I must search within you, discover those traits that best define you. Yet I need not probe any more… you show courage and an iron will… wits aplenty in a mind sharp as a dagger…"

Harry interrupted the hat's musings.

"Sir Hat?"

"Yes, Mr. Jones?"

"Which House do you think would benefit most from my affiliation to it? If it is fine with you, I wish to be Sorted there."

The Hat deliberated silently for a few moments, then declared:

"An interesting question, and one never put to me before. I have the answer, yes. Bold Gryffindor, who took me off his head and gave me brains for this task, died with a great desire unfulfilled: to mend the rift between himself and cunning Slytherin, whom he dearly loved. So let it be… SLYTHERIN!"

Harry thanked the Hat, placed it carefully back on its stool, and walked over to the table under the serpent banner, as if parting a sea of mutterings. All eyes followed him, including the piercing blue ones of the headmaster, who looked worried. Draco put words to the general feeling.

"You're Harry Potter! Why didn't you say anything?"

Harry sighed and hissed to Tomoe.

"_I wonder how many times will I have to repeat myself?_"

The serpent hissed a laugh.

"_I can keep count for you._"

Harry chuckled and turned to Draco.

"I prefer Jones."

"But you're famous! You're…"

"Hungry, and so is Tomoe. Could you pass the milk?"

* * *

Draco got the message and refrained from pestering his new Housemate. At one point during the banquet, Harry chanced to look up at the Head Table, and felt a piercing pain where his scar was located.

"Draco, who's the Professor wearing the turban?"

"That's Quirrell. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. A joke if you ask me."

Harry said nothing, but Tomoe picked up on his unease.

"_That human you speak of hides something_," the python said, tasting the air. "_Yes, there is another with him... like my kin and yet not... and it tastes of the poison-folk._"

Harry turned again to the blond.

"Draco, does Professor Quirrell have a serpent familiar?"

The blond shook his head.

"Not that I've heard, and my father would know; he's a school governor. Why?"

"Nothing, just wondered."

After supper Harry and his year mates trudged contentedly down into the bowels of the castle; the Slytherin dormitory was in the dungeons. Draco decided to act as an impromptu bodyguard, saving Harry from tedious repetitions. Finally, the other boys followed Draco's lead and soon their interest had shifted to Tomoe. The Slytherins had never had their own emblem as resident familiar.


	4. Strength Whose Mate Is Courtesy

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter 4: Strength Whose Mate is Courtesy**

The next morning, after receiving his class schedule, Harry sat beside Ron Weasley at the Gryffindor table. The redhead gaped at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Joining you for breakfast. You said you'd introduce me to your brothers, remember?"

"But… you're in Slytherin!"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I thought we were past that. Come on, introduce me."

Ron complied, still dazed, and Harry was soon bantering amicably with Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George. The other Weasley brother, Percy, shook his hand formally and smiled, but did not join in. By the end of breakfast, the Gryffindors had started to relax around Harry and the ever present Tomoe.

* * *

Later that morning, during Flying Lessons, Harry found himself mediating another inter-House dispute. A clumsy Gryffindor named Neville Longbottom had kicked off too hard and his broom soon veered out of control. The boy fell and broke his wrist, and the coach had to take him to the Hospital Wing. Draco noticed a belonging of Neville's on the ground and began playing with it, thinking of a prank.

"Draco, don't. Please give it here."

The blond pouted. "Come on Harry, it will be fun!"

Harry's eyes flashed, and his hands shot forward to seize Draco by his lapels. "Don't _ever_ seek my help to hurt the weak, Draco."

The blond yielded, stunned by the abrupt change in his normally jovial Housemate. Harry released him and walked over to Ron.

"Neville's your roommate, right? Would you return this to him?"

The redhead nodded, once more rendered speechless.

* * *

Other, similar events continued to take place throughout the school during that and the following days. By mid-October, students in general whispered about _the Good Slytherin_. Harry did not become aware of it until one Potions lesson.

Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin, taught Potions. The saturnine man was famous for his short temper, sarcastic demeanor, and blatant favoritism toward his own House. Harry made this last practice awkward for Snape. For that and other reasons undisclosed, the Potions Master cared not the least for Harry being in his House. Harry roused the man's ire even more by remaining as oblivious to Snape's animosity as to the expectations of the general public regarding the House of Slytherin.

Harry made a habit of partnering those less gifted at Potions. Neville Longbottom was perhaps the most notorious of these. The shy accident-prone boy was so terrified of Snape that he couldn't concentrate on his work, and his brews regularly produced rather spectacular explosions. One day the Gryffindor froze at his station, too terrified to even try.

"Hey, Neville. Come on, I'll lend you a hand."

"Th-thanks, Harry. But w-won't he m-mind?"

"What if he does? We don't have to like him, only learn from him. Tell you what, from now on, we'll do Potions homework together." He turned to Ron, who had been listening intently, and chuckled. "You can join us too, Ron."

Draco overheard this and snorted.

"Damn. _The Good Slytherin_ is going to be the end of us."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "The what?"

The blond smirked.

"You haven't heard? You're ruining our reputation of nasty Dark wizards. You're so nice they're calling you _the Good Slytherin_, because we aren't supposed to _care_ about the weak."

Harry stifled a growl.

"If that's what it takes to stop all the rubbish, so be it. Now, can we please focus on our work?"

A low silky drawl startled them all.

"Exactly my thoughts, Mr. Jones. Do so immediately, or you'll all serve detention." Stifling groans, the students complied

"_Now __that__ was __**not**__ good._" quipped Tomoe.

* * *

Harry's exploits as _the Good Slytherin_ reached a new level of intensity the night of the Halloween Feast. Midway through supper, Professor Quirrell sounded the alarm: a troll was loose in the dungeons. The headmaster interrupted the ensuing pandemonium and ordered the prefects to lead students to safety while the teachers dealt with the danger. Harry, sitting once again at the Gryffindor table, recalled an incident earlier that day.

"Ron? Where's the girl you argued with in Charms?"

"She probably went back to our dorms. Right, Lavender?"

The girl shook her head. "I didn't see her there, Ron."

Harry grabbed Ron's hand.

"Tell Percy."

But the Weasley prefect had already marched out of the Great Hall.

"McGonagall then."

"Harry, I don't see her. They all went with Dumbledore."

Harry scratched his chin, thinking hard.

"We'll need backup."

Before the redhead could ask what he was up to, Harry had reached the Slytherin table with him in tow. The Slytherin prefects had ordered their Housemates to barricade themselves in the Great Hall. Harry grabbed Draco's arm.

"Draco, round up our Housemates and follow us."

The blond, scared witless by all the excitement, obeyed first and sputtered after.

"Are you crazy? There's a troll loose!"

"Exactly, and there's a girl missing. Ron, did you see which way she ran after Charms?"

"I think she went to the girl's bathroom on this floor."

Draco screeched the Slytherins' general opinion. "You want us to join a Gryffindor rescue mission?"

Harry silenced them with a glare worthy of their Head of House.

"If you must be so childish, call it a _Hogwarts_ rescue mission. NOW MOVE!"

Harry's bellowed command had the desired effect. The reluctant rescuers soon located the missing girl in the bathroom Ron mentioned. As they turned to leave, however, a grisly surprise met them.

"The troll! We're lost!" whined Ron.

The girl they had come for, Hermione Granger, began screaming shrilly. Harry, however, remained calm and wasted no time in formulating a battle plan. He led half the group in drawing the monster's attention away from Hermione. When the troll raised its heavy mace to crush one of their number, Harry roared his signal. The other half of the makeshift battalion shouted Levitation Charms. The troll's mace slipped from its gnarled hands and hovered above it, before dropping onto its head, rendering it unconscious.

"Well done, people! Very well done!" praised Harry as he helped Hermione to her feet.

All heads turned to look at the downed troll. The Slytherins smirked superiorly, while Ron whooped.

"We defeated a troll! Wait till the teachers hear of this!"

"_They have heard already._" announced Tomoe as Professors McGonagall, Quirrell and Snape stalked into the bathroom.

"What is the meaning of this?" thundered the Head of Gryffindor.

Harry strode forward, wincing as the familiar pain shot through his forehead at the proximity of Quirrell.

"Professors, I take full responsibility. When I noticed Hermione hadn't come to the feast, I tried to hail down a prefect or teacher, but all were already too busy to hear. I persuaded these students to help me search for her, and we found her here. We didn't expect the troll to show up. It was supposed to be in the dungeons."

He said this last looking at Snape, whose trouser leg was slashed. The Potions Master met Harry's eyes, before sweeping his robe over his wound. McGonagall, meanwhile, looked rather deflated.

"Well, I cannot condone such risk-taking Mr. Jones, even if it was well-meant. Ten points from Slytherin… and twenty each to Gryffindor and Slytherin, for excellent teamwork and sheer good luck." She turned to Snape.

"I concur. Slytherins, return to your dormitory. Not you, Jones. Follow me."

Harry walked after his Head of House to the man's office. Snape bid Harry assist him in binding the wound, and as they worked in silence, Tomoe hissed in Harry's ear.

"_His wound is not from the beast you faced. It tastes of the wolf-kin._"

Snape looked at Harry.

"What did your familiar say, Mr. Jones?"

"She says your wound is not from the troll, but from some kind of dog, sir."

Snape's eyebrows rose.

"Indeed. Did she perceive aught else?"

Harry repeated the question to Tomoe, who hissed a longer answer.

"Sir, she says Professor Quirrell smelt of the troll." Harry's eyes widened. "Sir, you don't think…?"

"What I think is that perhaps your antics tonight were not an entire waste of time. Has your familiar noticed anything else about Professor Quirrell?"

Harry nodded.

"She asked me once whether he had a serpent familiar, because she smelt some poisonous species on him." Harry looked intently at the Potions Master. "Sir, I think I should tell you that every time I'm close to Professor Quirrell I feel pain shoot across my forehead."

Snape's eyes widened.

"Where your curse scar rests?"

Harry nodded.

"Very well, Mr. Jones. Thanks for the information, and for your assistance. I trust I need not remind you that our interview must remain private. Dismissed."

* * *

The rest of term elapsed uneventfully after Halloween. Harry's impromptu campaign against the troll cemented his reputation. His Housemates did not hold it against him after realizing a truce with the Gryffindors could earn them precious House points. The Gryffindors were grateful that Harry had saved the life of one of theirs. Ron and Hermione became close friends of Harry's, something that Draco tolerated grudgingly. The blond privately admitted that Harry had grown on him. Besides, he wasn't going to turn away a powerful ally because said ally chose to befriend the lower classes.

Harry spent Christmas with his parents, whom Harry kept updated of goings-on in the Wizarding world via both frequent letters and a subscription to the Daily Prophet. One evening toward the end of the holiday, the Joneses contemplated the situation.

"Shere Khan is on the move," mused Diane.

Harry looked up sharply.

Irwin chuckled at his wife's metaphor. "Professor Quirrell is clearly an enemy agent."

Harry smiled wryly at his parents.

"Do you suggest I gather the buffaloes... I mean, the troops?"

Irwin shook his head. "You already fought what battle you could, son. Leave the rest to your commander."

Diane nodded. "You don't want to get trampled."

* * *

As always, Harry took his parents' advice to heart. He avoided Professor Quirrell like the plague, and buried himself in his studies and the promotion of inter-House harmony by personal example.

Through Ron and Hermione, Harry befriended Hagrid. The half-giant positively worshiped Harry's deceased birth parents, and never lost the opportunity to share anecdotes of the late Potters. One afternoon near the end of term, Hagrid issued a special invite to Harry and whoever else he chose to bring. Ron, Hermione and a petulant but curious Draco went along. The grounds keeper showed them a dragon's egg he had obtained illegally. The Gryffindors were scandalized, for Hagrid could be fired, but the half-giant dismissed their concerns.

Harry asked Hagrid how he came by the egg.

"Oh, from a bloke a'tha Hog's Head."

"Who was he?"

"Dunno. In this business yer gotta be discreet, Harry."

"How much did he ask?" Ron wondered.

"Nuttin'. Said he needed ter get rid o' it, asked a bit 'bout my experience. Told 'im, after a three-headed dog, a dragon's easy. Why, wi' Fluffy yer jus' need to play some music, an' he gets ta snorin'."

Harry stared incredulously, making Hagrid look thoroughly flustered. "Shouldn'ta said that. Tell ya what, Harry. You and yer friends can come see after it hatches. Now, you should'a go back. 'Tis rather late," he said as he ushered the students out of his hut.

Draco, who despite his cold aloofness had a hard time concealing his enthusiasm during the visit, turned to Harry.

"What was that all about? Was he so drunk he saw three heads on his mutt?"

"Manners, Draco." Harry thought hard for a moment, then took the blond's elbow and nodded to the Gryffindors. "Let's go. I must see Professor Snape. See you at supper, guys."

Ron looked at his friend's swiftly retreating back.

"What got into him?"

Hermione frowned worriedly. "He figured out something very important."

Harry marched on the double to the dungeons, a bewildered Draco struggling to match his Housemate's grueling pace. Snape raised an eyebrow at the two.

"To what do I owe your arrival during such a pleasant afternoon?" the hook-nosed man sneered.

Harry paid no attention, walked over to the man's desk, and sat before speaking quietly.

"Important news, sir."

Snape dismissed Draco, and then looked inquiringly at Harry, who relayed Hagrid's tale. The Potions Master exploded.

"Blithering idiot!" He paused, looking at Harry. "At least the son is worth ten times the father. That will be fifty points for using your brain, Mr. Jones. Dismissed, and not a single word, is that clear?"

"Perfectly, sir."

* * *

The next morning, rumors of a battle waged during the night swept through Hogwarts. Several faculty members had cornered and dueled the feared Lord Voldemort himself. The Dark wizard, reduced to a wandering specter, had possessed the now late Professor Quirrell in order to steal a powerful object purposely hidden at Hogwarts.

Later that day, Harry received a summons to the headmaster's office. In the circular room of portrait-covered walls, replete with books and magical instruments, Albus Dumbledore presided from behind an ornate desk. Professors Snape and McGonagall already sat before the aged blue-eyed wizard.

"Ah, Harry, welcome. Sit, my boy; would you like a lemon drop?"

"No, thank you, sir."

"Severus tells me that you brought him word of a breach in our protections."

Harry looked at his Head of House.

"Sir, I brought Professor Snape word of the presence of illegal magical creatures on the grounds."

"Yet previously you also advised him of the suspicious behavior of one of our colleagues."

"I did not know its significance at the time, sir."

"Harry, your modesty becomes you. Thanks to your timely warning, Lord Voldemort was unable to abscond with a Philosopher's Stone, the use of which would have restored him to a physical body. Your parents would be proud of you."

"My parents already are, sir."

Neither Dumbledore could suppress a frown, nor Snape a triumphant smirk. Minerva looked from one colleague to the other, but her features betrayed nothing.

Harry broke the uncomfortable silence. "If I may ask, sir, why am I here?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"I thought to congratulate you, and answer any questions or concerns you may have, given the events of last night."

"I have no concerns, sir. You neutralized the threat."

"Only for the present, Harry. I am afraid there are other ways in which Voldemort can return."

"I'm under your protection until I come of age, and even then I will not eschew it, sir."

Snape's smirk widened, and McGonagall couldn't suppress the glitter of amusement that crossed her eyes. Dumbledore capitulated.

"We will endeavor to deserve that trust, Harry." The tone of dismissal caused Harry to rise, when Dumbledore reached for something behind his desk. "Ah, I almost forgot. Your father left this in my possession before his death. It is time for you to have it."

Harry accepted the package without missing Snape's scowl at the exchange. The green-eyed brunet took his leave without opening the parcel.

* * *

The package remained unopened until Harry had returned to Number Nine Privet Drive. There he sat with his parents and unwrapped the parcel to reveal an Invisibility Cloak.

Irwin had a shrewd look in his face.

"That's a recruitment bonus, son. The old man wants you to take a more active role in the conflict. Conduct unbecoming an officer, stooping to press children."

Diane's eyes flashed.

"The Wizarding community created their own problem in the first place. They further doom themselves by entrusting their defense to this jackal."

"They expect me to fight their battles, which I won't do until the odds are in my favor." concluded Harry. "I'll leave this here," he added, pointing to the cloak.

Diane beamed.

"Well said, my Mowgli. That idiot of a village priest can go hang."

The family's laughter resonated all throughout the house.


	5. The Founder's Guardian

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter 5: The Founder's Guardian**

An agitated crowd filled Flourish and Blott's and spilled outside into Diagon Alley. Harry was pressed against the Weasleys, the Grangers, and the legion of mostly female fans of a wizard named Gilderoy Lockhart. The insufferable fop had just announced his appointment as successor to the late Quirinus Quirrell at Hogwarts. Harry was never happier to have his famous scar concealed.

The summer had been fantastic. Harry completed his holiday assignments early, before his family's traditional summer trip. This time they visited Diane's remaining family in the United States. Harry wistfully reminisced about fun times with his American cousins, when a familiar drawl interrupted his reverie with a snide comment on the subject of social differences.

"That is no greeting for friends you haven't seen all summer."

Draco was issuing his standard jibes at Ron. At the sight of his scrupulous Housemate, the blond Slytherin quickly changed his manner.

"Harry, good to see you. Come, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Draco escorted Harry toward another stately blond aristocrat, whose identity was no mystery.

"Harry, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy. Father, this is Harry Potter Jones."

Harry bowed. "Honored to meet you, Mr. Malfoy."

"Likewise, Mr..." he looked to Draco, who mouthed the correct surname. "_Jones_. Draco has spoken much of you. We also received your postcards."

"I hope you enjoyed them, Mr. Malfoy. I hope Draco has spoken well of me also."

A hiss drew Harry's attention to his shoulder, where a mottled triangular head rested.

"Mr. Malfoy, this is Tomoe. She regrets your adornments are not alive."

The elder Malfoy's elegant robe featured serpent designs throughout. His clasp consisted of two entwined serpents, and his wand was concealed within a stunning snake-headed cane. But Lucius could not hide his surprise.

"It is true, then. You are a Parselmouth like the Dark Lord."

When Harry ignored the reference, Mr. Malfoy took his leave. To Harry's immense disappointment, however, Lucius proceeded to exchange heated words with Arthur Weasley.

"That's disgusting."

Draco pouted. "There's nothing I can do. My father's from another time!"

"Does he plan to remain there?"

"Harry, you can try saying something, but you won't like the answer."

"I won't be saying it like _that._" said Harry, looking pointedly at the brouhaha Lucius had created.

* * *

On the day of their departure for Hogwarts, Harry and Ron Weasley faced a very unusual situation. The barrier at Platform 9 ¾ would not admit them after the rest of the red-headed clan had crossed.

"What do we do now?"

"We wait, then try again." answered Harry placidly.

After the second fruitless try, Ron became desperate.

"Now what?"

"We find a public phone."

"A what?"

Harry grabbed his confused friend's arm, shaking his head in amusement. An hour later, Ron was enjoying the hospitality of the Joneses.

"Do not fret yourself, young man," admonished Diane as she served tea. "Your Professors will straighten it all out. In the meantime, make yourself at home."

Come the evening, Irwin had managed to win a round of Wizard's Chess.

"Wow, Mr. Jones! You learn fast!"

Irwin chuckled. "I too have a knack for strategy, son. Don't worry, you're still the expert at this version."

They both laughed at that.

After supper, they heard the sudden sharp crack of Apparition. A second later someone knocked firmly at the door. It was none other than the forbidding Head of Slytherin. Diane sighed almost imperceptibly.

"_Bagheera._"

Irwin grinned briefly at his wife before greeting their guest.

"Welcome to our home, sir. I am Irwin Jones; this is my wife Diane."

Snape's eyes registered their surprise at the Muggle's calm collectedness.

"Professor Severus Snape. I am to convey these students to Hogwarts," said the Potions Master.

Diane smiled graciously.

"Honored to meet you, Professor Snape. Will you take refreshment?"

Snape's thin lips curved slightly; he was impressed.

"I'm afraid I cannot, Mrs. Jones. Another time, perhaps."

"We understand, Professor," said Irwin. "Here come the youngsters now."

One Portkey-ride and a walk later, Harry and Ron were back at Hogwarts. Exhausted, Harry ignored his roommates' questions in favor of getting ready for bed.

"_Tomorrow_, guys. I'm knackered. Good night."

Both he and Tomoe were asleep before they hit the pillows.

* * *

The next morning Harry relayed his tale to head-shakes and laughter from his Housemates. Across the Great Hall, Ron was under similar onslaught from the Gryffindors. Tomoe hissed her disapproval.

"_Humans are so easily amused by the mishaps of others. The greater their woe when their turn comes._"

The python's words proved prophetic. Soon enough Harry and his classmates were immersed in schoolwork and Quidditch, the favorite Wizarding sport. The game was played on brooms, and included three types of balls and multiple ways to suffer lesions. Second years were eligible for their House teams. Harry and Draco became Seeker and Chaser, respectively, for Slytherin. Their first team practice was the setting of a familiar kind of confrontation.

"What's this, Draco?" asked Harry, pointing at the seven broomsticks—all brand new, with _Nimbus 2001_ etched on their handles—lying on the grass of the pitch.

"A donation to the Slytherin team, courtesy of my father. Aren't they great?"

Harry made no comment. He heard more people approaching, and looked up to see the Gryffindor team. Soon the two captains were arguing over use of the pitch. The Slytherins had scheduled a conflicting practice session at the last minute, with Snape's acquiescence. Draco and Ron looked ready to commence hostilities. Harry put a hand over Draco's mouth mid-insult.

"Don't, Draco."

He then glared at the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint. "This prank is not amusing."

"Who said it's a prank, Jones? We mean to crush them."

"What must be crushed is that attitude. Reschedule this practice, or you'll face Gryffindor a player short."

"You can't do that!"

Harry simply pivoted on his heel and began walking back to their locker room. Draco grew alarmed.

"Flint, you have to reschedule. We're toast without Harry!"

The dumbstruck Flint capitulated, much to the relief of both teams.

* * *

The match was yet another dramatic event. As Harry sped toward the Golden Snitch, a Bludger homed in on his position and pursued him exclusively, despite all efforts to divert the bolide's course. Harry did not see the peril until he caught the elusive Snitch, and felt an impact that broke his arm. Nearly blind from the pain, Harry landed with a last effort, before losing consciousness amid the ensuing pandemonium.

The green-eyed brunet woke up in the Hospital Wing, with a very painful arm on a sling, and a worried Draco and Ron hovering on opposite sides of his bed.

"He's awake! Malfoy, he's awake!"

"Harry? How are you feeling?"

"Like hell. What happened?"

A third voice overrode the wound-up boys.

"A rogue Bludger broke your arm. Somebody charmed it to go only after you."

Harry looked suspiciously at his ever-squabbling friends. Draco shook his head emphatically.

"It wasn't us. Everyone from both teams was caught by surprise and we all tried to help you." He shuddered. "Even the Weasleys."

Ron piped up in protest, but Harry hushed him. "Stop it, guys. I believe you."

Hermione spoke again. "We stayed to make sure you were fine, but Ron and I need to go back to classes. We'll come back later, OK?"

Harry nodded his thanks.

"I'll get something to eat," said Draco.

As soon as the blond left, a strange hysterical creature fell out of thin air and onto Harry's bed. Between great sobs, the distraught house-elf conveyed a dire tale of intrigue. Draco's shout interrupted the scene.

"Dobby? What the hell are you doing here?"

The creature froze and disappeared with a piercing wail. Harry looked inquiringly at the blond.

"That was Dobby, one of my father's house-elves. They're good servants, but that one's nutters. What did it want?"

"He confessed to both the rogue Bludger and the incident at the beginning of term."

Draco's eyes widened and his pale countenance turned ghostly.

"It can't be… my father wouldn't… at least I thought not."

"I take it your father doesn't approve of me." At Draco's forlorn expression, he added, "Don't worry; your Dobby also confessed he came here without leave, and that his deeds were his own initiative. He expected I'd be sent home immediately if I was injured." Harry cocked an eyebrow. "He thinks there is an evil plan in motion which I shouldn't be here for. Know anything about that?"

Draco sat down and sighed.

"My father used to support the Dark Lord. He was hard pressed to avoid prison after…"

"After my birth parents were killed?"

Draco shuddered.

"I'm so sorry. I honestly thought that with you in Slytherin things would change."

Harry patted Draco's arm with his good hand.

"You're not your father. Nor do you have to be."

Draco smiled bitterly.

"What will you do?"

"_We_ will speak to Professor Snape."

Snape swore them to secrecy. Without proof, they could only wait.

* * *

One evening, Harry was pressed by Lockhart to help answer fan mail. He had just dozed off when a fearsome, murderous voice startled him.

"Professor, did you hear that?"

Lockhart jumped; he too had fallen asleep.

"What? Oh dear, it is late. That's enough for now. You may leave. Ta-ta!"

Harry was about to ask again when Tomoe spoke.

"_He cannot hear. It is one of my kin who speaks. Woken brusquely and famished, he must feed._"

"_We cannot let him harm humans._" stated Harry as he followed the voice's trail to a flooded bathroom on the second floor.

He was too late. Already Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, hung limply by her tail from a torch bracket. A horrible threat, written in red upon the wall, completed the gruesome display. Just then other students came by, among them the impetuous Draco.

"Enemies of the Heir beware? You'll be next, mudbloods!"

The blond's pronouncement elicited general panic. Soon Professors Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall and Lockhart arrived together with Filch. In seconds the headmaster turned his piercing blue gaze full upon Harry, who stifled a groan. Once the students were dismissed, the five adults plus Harry adjourned to Lockhart's office. After much annoying interruption by the flamboyant Defense teacher, Dumbledore determined that Mrs. Norris was simply petrified and would be easily cured. Lockhart excused Harry.

"Do you have anything to add to that, Harry?"

The green-eyed youth shook his head as he met Dumbledore's gaze levelly. He then shared a meaningful glance with his Head of House. Beetle-black eyes glittered with understanding. Once dismissed, Harry conferred privately with Snape.

"What did you keep from the headmaster, Mr. Jones?"

Harry translated for Tomoe. "A basilisk named Brehas stalks Hogwarts. His lair lies within the castle's depths. Normally, he wouldn't hunt humans."

"And now?"

"He is starved after his hibernation, and his _true master_ compels him." Harry looked questioningly at Snape. "Draco's father?"

"No. The _true master_ is the _Heir of Slytherin_—the last living descendant of Salazar Slytherin." replied Snape, his dark gaze boring into Harry.

"_The Dark Lord_. I wonder how he breached the castle again?"

"That, Mr. Jones, is what we must discover. I shall need Lady Tomoe's assistance."

Tomoe slithered onto the Potions Master's desk and gazed at the sallow man.

"Tomoe places herself at the service of the House of Serpents. She finds the Dark Lord unworthy of commanding Brehas, and would free her kin from such slavery."

Snape nodded gravely. "I give you my pledge, Lady Tomoe. As Head of Slytherin, I will do all within my power to achieve that goal."

Harry's laugh spoiled the solemnity.

"Sorry, Professor. Tomoe just said she _likes_ you."

* * *

The rock python became a common sight throughout the school premises. Though she was determined to sway the mysterious Brehas to desert his current master, the search proved frustrating, and soon a second attack occurred. A young Gryffindor and that House's resident ghost were the victims. To make matters worse, the Gryffindors had not forgotten Draco's outburst the day of the first attack.

"Harry, you can't keep trusting him! _We_ can't keep trusting him just because of _you_!"

Hermione agreed vehemently. "Ron has a point, Harry. We know you despise inter-House enmity, but people are getting hurt."

Harry sighed gustily and looked gravely at the two Gryffindors. "You are my friends. So is Draco, his unfortunate habit of putting his foot in his mouth notwithstanding. I can assure you he is most definitely _not_ responsible for these attacks."

Hermione looked at Harry shrewdly. "There's something you're not telling us."

Harry nodded.

"Well, what are you waiting for, mate? Spill!"

"It's not that simple."

Hermione exploded. "Not that _simple_? I'll tell _you_ what's simple: _Muggleborns_ are being _targeted_! _I could be next_! What's the use of peace between the Houses if innocents have to pay for it? Has the _Good Slytherin_ become a _coward_?"

Harry's eyes flashed. "Very well. Come with me."

"Where are we going, mate?"

"To see Professor Snape."

The Potions Master scowled as he listened to Hermione's impassioned speech. Ron merely cowered under the piercing glare.

"So the fabled Gryffindor imbecility rears its head. Miss Granger, while you labor under the misapprehension that the world revolves around your person, the staff of this school is doing all within its power to guarantee the safety of _all_ students. Concern yourself with your insufferable parroting of written information, and refrain from meddling in what does not concern you."

Any other student would have desisted.

"No, sir! You _say_ it does not concern me; how come students in _your_ House are gloating about this threat to students of _my_ background? _Harry_ himself has access to sensitive information! And if you _are_ doing all within your power, _why_ haven't you disclosed the identity of the attacker, and apprehended him or her? Obviously you _know_ who it is!"

Before all hell could break loose, Harry spoke. "Professor, I request your permission to speak freely."

"Denied, Mr. Jones." He would have added more, when Tomoe hissed. "What does milady say?"

"She wishes you to confide on Hermione and Ron in this matter."

"Milady, I deem that most unwise."

"She judges them loyal and trustworthy. With all due respect, sir, I concur."

Snape's mouth curled in a snarl, but he yielded. "Very well. Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, you may rest assured that the title _Heir of Slytherin_ refers to no student or staff member of this school, but to the Dark Lord."

"But wasn't he repelled at the end of last term, sir?"

"He was. We have so far been unable to determine exactly how he is exerting his influence this time. Does that satisfy your most impertinent curiosity?" Hermione nodded. "Then _get... out... of... my... sight_!"

The Gryffindors complied hurriedly. Harry followed at a more sedate pace. Ron regained his speech at the stairs to the second floor.

"Hermione, don't ever do that again! Snape looked ready to murder us! You're lucky Harry's snake likes us."

"I'm sorry, guys. It's just that…"

Harry smiled, placing an arm around her shoulders.

"Don't worry, we understand." Harry then cocked his ear. "What's that noise?" Sudden piercing wails emerged from behind a door further ahead.

"Oh, that's Moaning Myrtle," said Hermione.

"Who?" chorused Harry and Ron.

"Moaning Myrtle. She haunts the girl's loo on this floor. She seems very upset this afternoon. More than normally, that is."

They walked over to the bathroom in question. The first attack had taken place in front of it. The grisly note from the _Heir_ still loomed over the opposite wall. Within a stall at the far end of the bathroom, the ghost of a young girl howled her indignation at having objects thrown through her. She calmed somewhat as the three students talked to her. Finally, she pointed out the latest projectile, a thin black notebook. Harry examined it.

"It's blank."

"There's a name on the cover," pointed out Ron.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," read Harry aloud. "Sounds familiar. Any ideas?"

Hermione shook her head, and reached for the book.

"There's a date in small letters on the back cover. How strange! This notebook is more than fifty years old."

Just then Tomoe hissed, "_Take it. It has an interesting taste._"

Harry chuckled. "Tomoe wants it for lunch, apparently."

* * *

Harry gave no further thought to the little black notebook for several months. Christmas vacation came and went without new attacks or news of Brehas. The mystery would have remained so had Harry not picked up the diary one night in the middle of April. Not yet feeling sleepy and with nothing better to do, Harry decided to write.

"Greetings, Journal." he began.

The ink disappeared and was replaced by strange writing. "Greetings."

Following a hunch, Harry played along. "I never before met a journal who answered back."

"This is no ordinary journal."

"Then what is it?"

"A record of great things done many years ago."

"How so?"

"First, we must introduce each other properly."

"Sure. You first."

"You may call me Tom."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

"The same."

"I am James."

"Are you at Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"I too, attended there."

"What _great things_ did you witness here?"

"Have you heard of the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Yes."

"I could show you more."

"Go ahead."

A blinding flash of light later, Harry landed at the second floor of Hogwarts. He was within Tom's memories. A student's corpse was carried away. Tom requested the headmaster of that time that he be allowed to stay at Hogwarts during the summer holidays. Finally, Tom persecuted a young Hagrid, and accused the half-giant's pet Acromantula of being Slytherin's monster.

Back in his bed, Harry shrewdly, ruthlessly, called Tom's bluff.

"That was the lousiest cover-up I ever saw, _Voldemort_."

"Who are you really, _James_?"

"A fellow _Slytherin_. Now, you will reveal the location of Brehas's lair, or I will take this journal to those who can destroy it."

"How about you join me and become great?"

Harry made to slam the diary closed.

"NO, WAIT!"

* * *

The diary was a Horcrux—a vessel for a piece of Tom Riddle's soul. Riddle had been using it to control none other than Ron's younger sister, Ginevra. The implication would have spelled utter disgrace for the Weasleys, had Riddle not been forced to reveal the identity of its previous keeper. Lucius Malfoy now faced trial and possible imprisonment. The aristocrat had already been dismissed from the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

In the Slytherin Common Room, the other first years were heckling a distraught, broken Draco Malfoy. Harry's wrath was great.

"Vincent? Gregory? Theodore? Blaise? Pansy? Millicent? Is this the way Slytherins treat one of their own?"

"Blind devotion is for Hufflepuffs, _Potter_." drawled Theodore Nott.

Harry punched him in the jaw.

"_Loyalty_ is essential in _this_ House!"

After several calming breaths, Harry approached the quivering heap that was Draco.

"Go away." whimpered the blond.

"No. You're my _friend._"

"The Malfoy name is ruined!"

"You can redeem it. I've told you before; you're not your father."

"What do you suggest?"

"Issue a formal apology to the Weasleys."

"What? I'll become a laughingstock!"

"No, you'll sway public opinion in your favor. Though I hope you don't do it just for that."

Silver eyes met emerald. "You're for real. You really mean it about having peace between Slytherins and the others."

Harry flushed angrily.

"_Listen well, O Slytherins_! The Sorting Hat wasn't sure how to place me, for I possess attributes from all Houses equally. I asked to be sent to whichever House would benefit the most from my presence. _Here I am!_

"Godric Gryffindor _loved_ Salazar Slytherin. He wanted nothing more than to mend their estrangement. But the two Founders died with Gryffindor's wish unfulfilled. The Hat hopes I can change that, and _I swear to give it my best!_

"_Don't think for a second that I'll let you stop me!_"

The day after Harry's tirade, Draco formally apologized to the Weasleys.

"Why should we believe you?" sniped Ron.

Harry intervened. "Because he is innocent, and you know it. You heard Professor Snape's evidence."

The Weasleys debated among themselves for a moment, and then Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "We accept your apology, Draco, and we don't hold any of this against you. Should you want it, we offer you our hands in friendship."

Ron grinned sheepishly.

"Yeah, Malfoy," he said. "You're not _that_ bad after all."

Draco shook the proffered hands. Noticing the imminent collapse of the blond's mask of impassivity, Harry rescued him.

"Now _that's_ finally fixed," Harry drawled, "how about some food?"

* * *

Once again Dumbledore could not pin any heroic deed on Harry. The youth was sound asleep by the time Snape concluded the Horcrux's interrogation. After the Leaving Feast, Dumbledore called a general staff meeting to discuss the proper disposal of the Dark object. Snape consented to bring Harry, who made a surprising request.

"Madams and sirs, Tomoe wishes to give Riddle's diary to Brehas—the basilisk who dwells in the Chamber of Secrets. As proof of his freedom from the Dark Lord, Brehas will destroy the Horcrux.

"Tomoe also respectfully asks whether—with the Headmaster's permission and all Professors' help—a proper habitat may be built for Brehas, who from now on shall be the school's protector, as Salazar Slytherin once intended."

The resulting expedition was a rousing success. Riddle's nefarious diary was reduced to a smoldering puddle after Brehas dripped his poison on it. Finally, the combined effort of all the Hogwarts faculty provided a much more amenable environment for the basilisk than a dank and dreary cavern.

"Awesome, Professors!" praised Harry. "I learned from working at the zoo that, contrary to popular belief, serpents like it _warm_."

Snape snorted. "I hope _that_ is not the total extent of the knowledge your brain has managed to retain, Mr. Jones."

Harry shook his head, chortling. "What _I _hope, _sir_, is that _you_ remember Brehas's offer of fresh potions ingredients."

"Cheeky brat." growled Snape, but there was no bite to it.

Everyone turned to admire the basilisk, who frolicked majestically in a warm lake flanked by rows of tall serpent statues beneath the imposing effigy of Salazar Slytherin. Tropical vegetation now bloomed profusely under a ceiling enchanted to perpetually show the seasons of the torrid zones. The indoor jungle was stocked with large animals native to such a habitat: appropriate prey for a basilisk. Tomoe made herself at home—she lounged indolently, coils trailing like muscular vines from an overhanging branch. Out of courtesy to his new charges, Brehas—Hogwarts Guardian at last—carefully averted his lethal gaze.


	6. Black Dog

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter 6: Black Dog**

Harry felt like he hadn't slept at all. Australia had been a blast, especially the Outback, with its miles of open land beckoning Harry to run and fly forever. The time lag, however, was another story. Seeing his son so out of sorts, Irwin allowed Harry to skip physical training until he regained his bearings.

One such morning after breakfast, Harry lounged on the porch, admiring Tomoe. The python was basking in the sun, and had stretched out her full length on the lawn.

"_Why, girl, you're already longer than I'm tall! Good thing I keep myself in shape—well, when I'm not this clobbered. I remember you as a hatchling, so tiny you fit in my cupped hands._"

"_Hunting has been good beside you, Harry._"

Suddenly, a series of pitiful yelps rent the morning air. Harry shot to his feet and ran to the sidewalk, just in time to see none other than Dudley Dursley. Harry's pudgy cousin and two of his cronies were tormenting a large but emaciated black dog, slamming sticks and hurling stones against the already battered animal.

"DURSLEY, STOP!"

Dudley and his pals smirked when they saw it was Harry and not Irwin who faced them. An instant later, their insolence turned to horror. Looking over his shoulder, Harry discovered that Tomoe had reared upon her coils as high as his head. The python's mouth was open in a threatening snarl as she hissed and spat abuse at the young thugs. When Harry faced the miscreants again, they had bolted. Harry laughed raucously.

"_Bloody brilliant, girl!_"

"_My pleasure,_" hissed the python, flicking her tongue. "_The wolf-kin is badly hurt._"

Harry bent to examine the dog. Its fur was matted and filthy, and large chunks were missing. The exposed skin was covered in scars and sores, some of them infected. One eye was swollen shut, and a hind leg looked broken.

"Aren't you a dreadful mess? Don't worry, big boy; you're safe now."

Carefully he hoisted the animal in his arms, and carried it to the front of the porch. Irwin and Diane had come out to see what all the noise was about.

"Seems the pack's growing," quipped Diane. "Who will this be, dear? _Akela_?"

Harry shook his head. Despite his pitiful state, the dog was making a fool of himself.

"I would say _Baloo_, Mum. He's big as a bear..." Harry gently pried open the quivering jaws. "He's beyond maturity... and he's bloody goofy. He'll be a menace once he's back in top shape."

* * *

A fortnight later, Harry's forecast became reality. Harry cleaned the animal's wounds, and then took him to his friends at the zoo for additional treatment. Tomoe was very polite to the guest, but watched him warily and refused to converse in Parseltongue in his presence. The dog, now referred to as Baloo, accepted the Joneses' ministrations docilely, and tried to keep his mischief to the minimum... with little success.

The Joneses had suspended their newspaper subscriptions while abroad. Now they snorted and shook their heads at the circus in the Wizarding world. Predictably, the parents of Hogwarts students protested in droves the addition of Brehas to the Hogwarts staff. The faculty spent precious weeks fending off the resultant deluge of Howlers. Headmaster Dumbledore played coy until nearly the entire Ministry of Magic camped out at the gates. The reason for the procrastination triggered a new wave of scandal.

It turned out that the much revered Albus Dumbledore could understand Parseltongue perfectly, though not speak it. The press had a field day, and Minister Fudge almost a heart attack. Finally, the Heads of House, with Snape in the lead, requested the Board of Governors to allow the basilisk his say. All the dignitaries were ushered with due ceremony to the renovated Chamber of Secrets—renamed the Guardian's Chamber—for an eye-opening and hair-rising interview with Brehas. The basilisk displayed prodigious patience and courtesy as he answered both the legitimate concerns and the malicious baiting and sniping. Even the most recalcitrant among the Minister's retinue had to agree, however reluctantly, that the creature bore naught but goodwill to the school's staff and students. An agreement was reached that Brehas would be given free rein to patrol the castle, but he was forbidden to leave the plumbing unless the school was in dire threat of attack. Headmaster Dumbledore consented to receive visits from Magical Law Enforcement personnel at the Ministry's discretion.

However, that commotion paled in comparison with the news that a prisoner had escaped from Azkaban. Until then the Wizarding penitentiary was considered impregnable. The fearsome fugitive Sirius Black was not only convicted of mass-murder, but also of disclosing the whereabouts of the late Potters to Lord Voldemort. To further complicate things, Black was allegedly heard uttering threats toward someone at Hogwarts just before his escape. Naturally, the target was instantly assumed to be the Boy Who Lived.

Diane winced in sympathy. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"Tired." Harry looked at his father. "But it's nothing unexpected."

Irwin smiled proudly. "That's my son."

Harry nodded.

"Exactly, Dad. I still feel sad for my birth parents, but it would be pointless to crave vengeance in their name after so long. Not that the public agrees, of course," he said pointing at the paper.

Diane snorted. "Yes, anything to feed their miserable yearning for a scapegoat. I feel like we never retired, Irwin."

"Who says we retired, Di?"

* * *

The end of August loomed close. Baloo exhibited no sign of his former moribund state. He spent the days frolicking, flaunting his glossy fur, strong and agile frame, and voracious appetite. Though he socialized aplenty with Diane and Irwin, his preferences lay indubitably with Harry. The line had been drawn at sleeping in Harry's bed—Tomoe had seniority. The python had not yet relented in her wary aloofness of her canine counterpart.

One night the reason for Tomoe's attitude was revealed. It was a little past midnight when Diane touched Irwin's hand, in a prearranged gesture signaling the need for stealth. Harry too roused. He had the distinct feeling of being stared at. He cautiously opened his eyes. A tall human figure loomed over his bed. A hand swiftly covered his mouth. Harry identified a visage extremely familiar from the photos littering both Muggle and Wizarding newspapers.

Diane's bloodcurdling bellow rudely dissolved the uneasy tableau.

"UNHAND MY SON, BLACK!"

The fugitive whirled to find twin muzzles expertly aimed at his torso. He glanced at the window desperately.

"Freeze, wizard, and put your hands where we can see them!" ordered Irwin, his voice lower but no less deadly than his wife's. "Magic is useless against these weapons. You'll have more holes than a colander if you take one more step."

But the wizard keeled over, unconscious. Unseen and unheard by Black, Harry had reached for a pressure point on the back of the man's neck.

Sirius Black woke up to a pounding headache. Ropes stung and cut into his skin. He gazed blearily at Irwin, who sat facing him, rifle braced and ready.

"If you value your life, wizard, stay."

"It wasn't what you think…"

Diane placed a tray on the center table and sat down gracefully, her revolver trained on the terrified prisoner. "So you didn't just break out of that hellhole, travel all those miles, infiltrate our home, and attempt to murder my son in his sleep?"

"No! I swear!"

Irwin waved him to silence. "We don't want empty oaths, wizard. But we're not criminals like you. You have five seconds to start explaining why we shouldn't immediately alert the authorities of both your world and ours."

Black hurried to comply. He stammered a tale of cunning deceit. The true perpetrator was Peter Pettigrew, another former friend of the late Potters. Pettigrew framed Black and feigned his own death to escape after Voldemort's fall from power.

Diane snorted. "A likely tale, Mr. Black. Is there any way to verify your claims?"

Black nodded. "There's a potion called Veritaserum. It's highly controlled, but perhaps…"

"Professor Snape can brew it. I'll write to him." interjected Harry.

Black's eyes widened. "What? D-did you say S-Snape?"

"Yes. He's Potions Master at Hogwarts."

"Severus Snape?"

"You're stalling, Mr. Black." said Diane through clenched teeth. "What does the name matter?"

"You don't understand. Severus Snape would never help me. We've always hated each other. He'd jump at the chance to have me executed, no questions asked!"

"I wonder why?" spat Diane.

Irwin lowered his rifle. "Why don't you tell us what you left out the first time, Mr. Black?"

"Irwin!"

"No, Di. There's more to this than meets the eye. Harry is safe now. Let's get to the bottom of this."

Diane looked at her son, who nodded. She sighed deeply, and reluctantly lowered her gun as well. She motioned for Black to continue.

"We all went to Hogwarts together: James, Peter, another boy named Remus Lupin and I. James and I grew up together. I ran away from my parents and his took me in. We were brothers in all but name. The others we met at Hogwarts. The four of us ended up in Gryffindor. We were inseparable, called ourselves the Marauders. We were rather... exuberant boys."

"Troublemakers, you mean," smirked Diane.

Black hung his head. "Yes. We were all fools, had not a care in the world.

"One day we discovered Remus was a werewolf. They're terribly discriminated, but Dumbledore allowed Remus at Hogwarts, and helped him keep his illness secret. The rest of us decided it wasn't fair our best friend had to spend a week out of every month in solitary seclusion, so we trained to become Animagi—wizards that can turn into animals. James was a stag, Peter a rat, and I, you already know."

"How does Professor Snape figure into this?" Harry asked, his eyes suspicious.

"He was in our year, in Slytherin."

Harry interrupted him. "I think I see where this is going. The four of you made it your mission to make the young Snape's life impossible, on the principle that it is what Gryffindors do to Slytherins. Am I right?"

Black grimaced. "He gave as good as he got."

"Was it four against four?" Diane's eyes bored into Black's, who dropped his gaze, reddening. "I thought as much. _I_ have met Professor Snape, and find him an _honorable_ man. _He_ would help you, however little _you_ deserve it."

"There's more yet, isn't there, Mr. Black?" said Irwin tiredly. "Finish your tale; it's late enough already."

"One time I dared Snape to go after Remus during a full moon. I just did it to shut him up. I never thought he'd actually _do_ it! But we saw him sneak out of the castle. If James hadn't gone after him…"

"He'd be dead. Nice going, Mr. Black."

The man looked forlornly at Diane.

"You think I don't regret that I almost made my best friend a murderer?"

He swallowed convulsively.

"Then there was Lily. It was love at first sight for James, but she didn't think much of any of us. She was friendly with Snape, neighbors or some such. Clearly he wanted them to be more. It irked us to no end."

Black ignored Diane's huff. "Snape was a disgusting little wannabe Dark wizard, like all his Housemates. No, Harry, it's true," he pleaded, when Harry made to protest. "Nearly all of them became Death Eaters. Eventually Lily saw it too and ended the friendship.

"After Lily and James were gone... I still don't understand how Dumbledore could speak for him!"

Harry looked at Black sadly.

"Is it so hard to believe Professor Snape's defection was real? You are, after all, asking us to believe your allegiance was never with Voldemort, and that one of your own best friends betrayed all of you."

At the reference to Pettigrew, Black's head snapped up.

"But he did! _That's_ who I'm after! Peter Pettigrew is at Hogwarts! He's posing as the pet of one of the Weasley children!"

"Ron's rat, Scabbers?"

"Yes! I saw him on the Daily Prophet… there was a picture of the whole family. That _traitor_ was perched on the boy's shoulder! I want to murder him, like he made everyone believe thirteen years ago! Not you; _never you_! If you won't believe anything else, at least believe _this_!" Black wailed, sobbing helplessly.

Irwin massaged his brows, and looked at his wife and son. Diane's eyes still glinted, but her shoulders were less tense. Harry simply stared, tears of sympathy in his eyes.

"Well, Mr. Black. It's late, and we need some rest after all these momentous revelations. You've lived with us for a month. The last few weeks you've been back to full health. You could have killed us at any time. I will grant you the benefit of the doubt.

"Not completely, mind you, for I have a family to protect. For what's left of tonight, I'll leave only your hands and feet bound, loosely. For your sake, you'd better still be _right here_ in the morning. We'll talk some more then."

* * *

Sirius Black did not move a muscle the rest of that night, nor did he make a sound until the Joneses spoke to him. Diane unbound his hands and feet, and offered him breakfast.

"I still don't fully trust you, Mr. Black, but you behaved _tolerably_ for a dog. If you do better as a human, your chances with me are good."

Black nodded meekly. Once they had eaten, the interrogation continued.

"Why did you come here, if my son isn't your target?"

"I just wanted to see him, Mrs. Jones," whispered Sirius, gazing at Harry. "James was my brother. I held Harry as a newborn, watched him, played with him. James and Lily named me his godfather."

He turned to Harry. "I'm sorry that I proved such a wrong choice."

Diane frowned slightly. "I thought you were trying to persuade us of your innocence."

"Mrs. Jones, I'm _technically_ innocent. I _didn't_ lead Voldemort to James and Lily. But I convinced them to switch Secret Keepers—the only person who could reveal the address—from myself to Peter. He was always timid and unremarkable. I figured Voldemort would come for the strongest of us. We knew there was a mole close to us, but Peter never crossed our minds. I suspected Remus because of his illness. Remus probably suspected me because of my family."

"It makes sense." declared Irwin. "The weak often side with whom they perceive as the mighty, other considerations notwithstanding."

"We still need _tangible _proof of your allegations, Mr. Black. Can you think of any other, _legal_ way to obtain it?" inquired Diane.

Black thought for a few moments.

"There's a magical object the four of us created while at Hogwarts. A map of the castle, charmed to show the location of every person within the map's boundaries. It cannot lie, and potions and spells can't fool it."

"Where is it now?"

"Argus Filch confiscated it during our last year. It should still be in his office."

"Mr. Black, that idea necessitates my son's involvement. I cannot agree." snapped Diane. "My son is nothing like you at that age."

Black looked at Harry, who smiled. "Mum's right, Mr. Black."

The wizard winced. "Would you call me Sirius? You were already trying to, the last time I saw you."

Diane scowled, but Harry was still smiling.

"It's OK, Mum. I don't mind. It _is_ a good name for a dog."

He smirked at Black's flushed cheeks. "No offense meant… _Sirius_. I'll speak to Mr. Filch, see if he'll part with this treasure for a bit."

Sirius shook his head. "He wouldn't have been able to use it. If you don't know the correct incantation, the parchment insults you… rather colorfully."

Diane snorted. "Again, no surprise there. Irwin?"

"It can cause no further wrongs, and may set things to rights. Very well, Mr. Black. We will shelter you, until Harry procures that map and we're able to corroborate your claims. In return, you will follow our orders, and give up your murderous quest."

Irwin halted Sirius's protests. "Otherwise, we turn you in. What will it be?"

Sirius hung his head in defeat. "I'll do as you say. I swear it."

Harry nodded approvingly.

* * *

During the following weeks, Sirius the human surpassed Sirius the dog in terms of behavior. He made himself useful in every way possible, practically waiting on the Joneses hand and foot.

One afternoon, while helping Harry install a larger tank for Tomoe, the Animagus discovered just how far ran the differences between him and Harry.

"_The wolf-kin works well. He has made me a good lair._"

Harry nodded. "_He works hard to win our trust._"

Sirius made a choking sound. "Harry? Was that… _Parseltongue_?"

Harry nodded, chuckling. "You just noticed?"

Then he remembered Tomoe had never spoken in Sirius's presence. "Oh, I see. Tomoe decided to trust you. She's pleased with your work."

"What a relief," exclaimed Sirius, eying Tomoe's muscular coils critically. "Are you two hiding any more surprises?"

"You already know my wand is the twin to Voldemort's, and that my scar hurts when he's close..."

Tomoe interrupted. Harry blushed furiously.

"_What_ did she say?"

"Er… did I mention I'm in Slytherin?"

Sirius fainted.

Harry suspected that, if not under probation by Diane and Irwin, Sirius would have throttled him. As it was, the man remained sullen for several days, though his alacrity never wavered. Finally, he sat beside Harry one night.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. It was just such a shock."

"I know. That's why Tomoe kept a low profile. Honestly, I simply forgot to tell you."

"It certainly explains your defense of Snape."

"He's a good man, much misunderstood… like present company."

Sirius winced, but then smiled wryly.

"_Touché_. In my defense, it's become instinctual. All my family was in Slytherin. They were all Dark Arts enthusiasts. My mother wouldn't speak to me when I became a Gryffindor. She would have disowned me, but my younger brother died—Voldemort killed him. Only surefire way out of the Death Eaters."

At Harry's warning glance, Sirius held up his hands. "Hey, I'm not here to argue. If he's been good to you, I'll try my best to be civil. Just don't expect me to be all chummy with him."

Harry hugged him. "Good enough, Sirius. I'm always happy to gain more family."

* * *

The day of Harry's departure for Hogwarts, the Joneses took Sirius with them under the Invisibility Cloak. It was a sort of graduation gift.

"You've raised a wonderful son. James and Lily couldn't have done better."

Diane nodded smartly. "Thank you, Mr. Black. Glad you approve."

She said it without malice. It was the formidable woman's way of lowering her shields, as far as she would go until Sirius's name was cleared.

It gave the Animagus hope.


	7. Broken Lock That Freed

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter 7: Broken Lock That Freed**

Harry stood still for a moment, inhaling methodically. He was tasting the atmosphere on Platform 9 ¾ much like Tomoe, whose forked tongue slid in and out of her open mouth.

"_Fear._" declared the python. "_Yet no one hunts them._"

"_More like mass hysteria._" observed Harry. "_And two do hunt them—the old man and the one who Speaks but listens not._"

The Aurors flanking and escorting the serpent and her boy to the Hogwarts Express tried their best to hide their flinching at the conversation as they briskly loaded their luggage. A grim looking Arthur Weasley drew him aside before boarding the train.

"Harry, I want you to promise me that, no matter what you hear, you will not pursue Sirius Black." he whispered urgently.

Harry schooled his features into innocent bewilderment. "Why would I do such a thing, sir?"

_Mum and Dad have him well under control._

"Never you mind, Harry. Just promise me, please."

"Sure, sir. I give you my word."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek until he and Tomoe were settled. Then he let out an explosive guffaw.

* * *

They were nearly alone in their train compartment. Tomoe's increased bulk necessitated more space, and students had learned to be solicitous where the python was concerned. Hadn't she gotten You Know Who's basilisk to protect Hogwarts instead of killing Muggleborns? The only other occupant was a shabbily dressed wizard who snored quietly in the farthest corner from them.

"_Wolf kin._" announced Tomoe.

Harry scanned the slumbering man. His eyes stopped on the wizard's trunk. It bore the name _R.J. Lupin_.

"_Surprises never cease._" sighed Harry. "_Ten fat rats he's the new Defense Master._"

"_The wager interests me not. I hunt only one fat rat this time. The others come to me when I call. Will you call him hunt-brother?_"

"_Only if his mind is not the old man's but his own._"

Python and teen followed Lupin's example and settled into a comfortable doze. Suddenly, the temperature dropped until ice formed on the windows. Tomoe coiled herself as tightly as possible around Harry without harming him, furious at the rude loss of warmth. The reason for the phenomenon soon became clear.

"_Soul suckers!_" warned Tomoe, shifting into attack position.

Harry gazed at the looming horrors, clad in tatters, gliding toward them leaving a foul miasma in their wake. Dementors—the guardians of Azkaban. There was no doubt as to whom they sought. Harry experienced disorientation as he witnessed a scene from the faraway past in his mind—the death of his birth parents. But it didn't cripple him.

"_My secrets are mine, soul suckers! Begone!_"

The Dementors hesitated. They knew of only one Parselmouth whose orders they would gladly obey—one who always brought them a bountiful harvest of souls to devour. Then a shouted spell and a blinding flash of silvery light sent the creatures scurrying from the compartment. Lupin had roused. Harry and Tomoe turned toward him, but he merely nodded and handed Harry a chocolate bar from one of his pockets, before resuming his nap.

"_Impressive._" Tomoe's respect for Lupin had risen a notch. The python always appreciated those who provided the warmth her cold blood craved.

"_Yes._" agreed Harry. "_But will he walk another trail than the old man's? Until we know for sure, we cannot trust him fully. I shall, however, ask about that spell._"

* * *

Auror detachments could be seen at strategic locations throughout Hogwarts Castle. There were also Dementors stationed at every entrance to Hogwarts. Harry heard that Dumbledore protested this measure, but Fudge's only concession was to bar the noisome creatures from entering the castle.

"_So the old man does have scruples. They just do not include us._" mused Harry.

"_You must learn why—there is more to it than the usual distrust humans bear my kind._" advised Tomoe.

Dumbledore's announcements confirmed what Harry and Tomoe had surmised. Gilderoy Lockhart had deserted his post following the news of Brehas's appointment, and Remus Lupin would take the fop's place. Harry sent word home at the earliest opportunity.

Harry looked for Pettigrew as soon as Ron hailed him from the Gryffindor table, but there was no sign of the Animagus. Ron however, was quite loud on his complaints against Hermione's new familiar, Crookshanks. The redhead argued that the presence of the part-Kneazle was the cause of Scabbers's deterioration and the only explanation for his disappearance. Harry listened, his features a mask of friendly concern and sympathy. His mind, however, was on the orange feline nestled on Hermione's lap.

"_Now __**he**__ shall make a worthy hunt-brother._"

Tomoe agreed. "_Yes. I shall present him to Brehas at once. Then we shall hunt our natural prey!_"

"_Don't forget our quarry is magical._" cautioned Harry.

"_As are my hunt-brothers. Trouble yourself not with such details, but with unearthing the watcher-skin._"

Harry chuckled. "_Very well. I shall leave it to the masters._"

* * *

Harry approached Professor Lupin after the first Defense lesson. The man had turned out to be kind and cheerful as well as competent. The vast majority of students were overjoyed, though among the Slytherins the unease was patent.

"_Even I cannot deny the contrast between him and our Head._" admitted Harry to Tomoe. But he put that concern aside, for he had business in mind with the werewolf. Lupin beamed when he saw Harry waiting for him.

"Harry! I looked forward to meeting you. Did you know I held you as a tiny pup? My, but you have grown!"

Harry, however, remained curt and impassive. "Thanks, Professor. I did hear you were close to my birth father."

"Indeed. James was my dear friend—more than that, a brother. Please, if there's anything I can help you with, simply ask."

"You repelled the Dementors aboard the Hogwarts Express. What spell did you use?"

Lupin nodded. "Ah, yes. It is called the Patronus Charm. It conjures a symbolic image—usually animal—of your purest emotions: love, happiness. The Dementors are among the foulest creatures in existence and cannot abide such virtue."

"Would you make it my independent project?"

Lupin agreed enthusiastically.

* * *

Argus Filch no longer had the Marauders' Map.

"I remember that dratted thing! It was no mere parchment! Those miscreants actually stole a blueprint of this castle, and charmed it to show all peoples within! But I have it no longer. Some other disrespectful brats took it and I haven't caught them yet!"

"Thanks anyway, Mr. Filch. Would you mention it if you saw it again? It will make a nice present for Professor Snape."

_Not to mention poetic justice._

"Ah yes, Severus would put it to good use indeed. Will do, lad."

* * *

As at Platform 9 ¾, Harry and Tomoe stood still as statues, smelling and tasting the air. So close to the Forbidden Forest, Harry felt his entire body crackle with the urge to run headlong into the beckoning depths and never turn back. He wondered who first named this place forbidden. Was it Slytherin, after feeling like Harry just felt, to caution the unwary? Or perhaps Gryffindor, after the break with his dear friend, anxious that perhaps the influence of Dark creatures had corrupted his beloved? Surely it wasn't Hufflepuff, who likely roamed it freely, cultivating magical species of plants and harvesting them under sun or moon. And Ravenclaw preferred the heights of her tower to the outdoors. Harry sighed, trying to clear the mist and beguilement from his mind.

No other location in the Wizarding world made Harry feel thus. In the Guardian's Chamber the bounds were clear: all Harry had to do to remember himself was look at the gigantic likeness of his House's Founder. But the Forbidden Forest was home to magical beasts and plants of countless kindreds, and the mountains that bordered it were untamed wilderness also. If he allowed himself even one taste of that freedom he would not care whether Voldemort enslaved all witches and wizards, or that he had bound himself with oaths on his honor to help them. His mother alone among humans understood. After all, it had been Diane who had created her own Mowgli, with her tales of jungles and her yearly jaunts through enchanting, unyielding places just like _this_...

"_Perhaps this was a mistake._" lamented Harry to Tomoe. He knew when signed up for the class that Care of Magical Creatures could provide the perfect excuse to give in to his desire.

"_Oh well. Let the Master fetch me if I stray too far._"

The Professor was Hagrid, promoted by Dumbledore immediately after his name was cleared.

"_Ever since first year I've stayed away from him, though surely he could help me with this yearning that drives me to distraction. I cannot cleave to one so bound to the old man._"

Tomoe nuzzled Harry affectionately, crooning softly. "_Be at ease, my hatchling. The favor of all kindreds goes with you. The old one and the abomination shall fall and then we shall walk our own trail. But now, look well... it is the People of Hoof and Claw._"

True to form, Hagrid had decided on a large and dangerous species for his very first lesson.

"_I can taste your delight. The other hatchlings however..._"

The students' excitement, equal parts morbid curiosity and abject horror, annoyed the python. But Harry was too taken with the small herd of stately creatures waiting behind Hagrid.

"_Yesss. Would you keep an eye on them?_"

The hippogriffs were impressively handsome. They were also extremely proud—and impatient with those who did not demonstrate proper respect. The enthused Harry had no difficulty passing muster with the hippogriffs, however, and soon one had agreed to carry him on its back for a short flight. Tomoe's warning broke the enchantment.

"_Trouble! Your yellow-furred lair-mate._" warned Tomoe.

Draco could not forgo an opportunity to bait Hagrid. Unfortunately, he managed to offend one of the hippogriffs in the process. The beast reared and mantled furiously, ready to trample the Malfoy Heir into the dust. Harry was sorely tempted to let the beast have its way.

"_Idiot!_"

Harry levitated Draco out of danger, but the girls chose that instant to shriek their horror, agitating the hippogriff further. Harry's ire almost broke every single one of his painstakingly constructed restraints.

"_Remind me why I bother, Tomoe? But first, please herd them out of here!_"

Harry focused on lowering Draco carefully. The blond, however, gave into his panic and pitched forward over his Housemate.

* * *

An hour later, Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing, his left arm tingling where Madam Pomfrey had fixed a fracture. Ron and Draco were circling his hospital bed like vultures.

"Harry, that beast nearly killed you, and all because _Draco_ here decided to have some fun!"

"Now see here, _Ronald_, that oaf shouldn't expose us to highly dangerous creatures in the first place!"

"_He has that backwards._" quipped Tomoe.

"_Perhaps next time I shall not intervene on their behalf._" returned Harry.

"_Really? And lose valuable hunt-brothers and sisters?_"

"SILENCE," roared Madam Pomfrey. "Mr. Jones has had enough excitement for today. As for _you_, Mr. Malfoy, your Head of House expects you in his office immediately. Mr. Jones, if you feel up to it, Professor Snape wishes to see you as well. Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, please return to your Common Room."

Harry mouthed his thanks to the matron over his friends' heads.

"Mr. Malfoy, you _disappoint_ me."

Snape's scowl conveyed the full weight of that statement. Draco's features showed his devastation plainly.

"Since verbal admonishments have proved futile, you leave me no alternative but to place you in Mr. Filch's capable hands, until such a time as he determines you're no longer impaired in your self-control. Dismissed."

The blond staggered to the door. Harry's ire had abated by now, and he gripped his Housemate's shoulder at Tomoe's subtle prompt.

"I don't hold it against you, Draco." he whispered.

"You sounded like such a _Gryffindor_ there," mocked the Potions Master.

"The Hat _did_ find traits from all Houses in me, sir." shot back Harry.

"If there is someone who needs no more coddling, it is Mr. Malfoy. I entreat you to desist, Jones."

_You have no idea how much I agree with you, Professor._

"I've never _coddled_ him, Professor. I've merely _persevered_ in his friendship," said Harry with a toothy grin, before changing the subject.

"Is it time yet for gathering potions ingredients, sir?"

Snape's lips quirked. "I would have thought you and milady Tomoe would not wait for a proper escort."

Harry smirked. "_Tomoe_ visited on our first day here. _I _decided to play it safe."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"She, Brehas and Crookshanks are now business partners. Something to do with good hunting in dark corners."

* * *

Pettigrew, however, proved a craftier quarry than expected. Despite Tomoe's certainty in her and her hunt-brothers' prowess, it was taking the unlikely trio longer than the python had projected. Meanwhile, there was no sign of the Marauders' Map. Until two Gryffindors accosted Harry at breakfast.

"Greetings…" crooned Fred Weasley.

"…Dear _Good Slytherin_." finished George.

"What ails you?"

"Could we perhaps ease your concerns?"

Harry shook with laughter.

_Now why didn't I think of them?_

"May I ask you something?"

"Fire…"

"…At will."

"Have you ever broken into Filch's office?"

The twins smirked at each other.

"You request…"

"…Sensitive information."

"As such, it will cost you," they chorused.

Harry smirked back. "Perhaps during your adventures, you've run into a strange parchment that insults the user?"

"And what would…"

"…The _Noble Serpent_…"

"…Want with such…"

"…A questionable object?"

"Tomoe's after a particularly insolent vermin."

"Did you hear that, George?"

"Loud and clear, Fred."

"How could we deny our aid…?"

"…To such a worthy damsel in distress?"

The twins hooked an arm each through one of Harry's, and dragged him down a hallway. At a seemingly random spot, they walked right into the wall… and into a small secret alcove. George fished in a pocket and pulled out an old folded parchment.

"_I solemnly swear I'm up to no good_," he incanted, tapping the yellowed paper. The magical blueprint blossomed upon the page.

"We were thinking of bequeathing it to you anyway," explained Fred. "That you happen to be searching for it is quite the happy coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"_Mischief managed_," recited George, rendering the parchment blank once more.

"Please convey our most sincere wishes…"

"…For a successful completion of her quest…"

"…To the noble…"

"…Princess of Pythons."

It took Harry a full five minutes to regain his wits.

* * *

The Marauders' Map only confirmed that Pettigrew knew himself hunted. The Animagus had the advantage as one of the map's creators. Harry decided to wait for Christmas, when he would give the map to Snape, and devoted himself to schoolwork and Quidditch.

The sport became something of a headache. The Dementors made a habit of swarming the crowded pitch, drawn by the strong emotions of the crowd. Resolved to take the offensive against the monsters, Harry applied himself zealously to his lessons with Professor Lupin.

"_Expecto patronum!"_

Lupin gasped loudly at the breathtaking creature that surged from Harry's wand. The silvery vision soared in graceful arcs, displaying the iridescent plumage lining its wings and tail. It plunged to the floor at the far end of the classroom and charged toward Harry , alternately slithering close to the stone and running on its strong hind quarters. Each foot was crowned by mighty talons, and the cusp of each wing bore claws. Despite the feathers, the sinuous neck and tail were unmistakably reptilian. The magnificent being came to a stop before Harry and bowed deeply to the one who had summoned it. The stately head was perhaps the strangest feature, perfectly poised between bird and reptile. The jaw did not yet end in a beak, and the tongue was forked, but the top of the head could only belong to one of the great raptor birds. After another circuit of the classroom, the stunning apparition took its leave in a dazzling display of luminescence.

"Harry! That was extraordinary!"

"Thank you, sir. What does the form mean?"

"The animal? It's strikingly appropriate… a creature with both Gryffindor and Slytherin traits. It fits everything I've learned about you in these few months."

_Time to find out where you stand, wolf-brother. _

"Are _you_ OK with _that_?"

Lupin flinched and sighed wearily.

"Oh, Severus! Will you _ever_ let go of that grudge?"

"It is hard to forget one who almost murdered you, sir."

Harry glanced at Tomoe, curled placidly on top of an entire bench. "Professor Snape didn't have to say anything. I have my own sources."

Lupin eyes flashed. "Maybe I've been terribly mistaken about you, Harry. Of all things, I would never have thought you capable of setting that snake to spy upon your elders! What _else_ does she do for you?"

Werewolves are fast, but Lupin wasn't expecting Tomoe to attack—she looked and smelt utterly at ease. Yet in the blink of an eye Lupin found himself restrained by the python's powerful coils.

"Her _name_ is _Tomoe_, and _she_ is her _own_ mistress. Unlike a certain _other_ Parselmouth, I do not make a habit of enslaving my _brothers and sisters_.

"Of all things, I expected you to be _honorable_. But I don't suppose _Slytherins_ are worthy of your _respect_. We are, after all, several miles beneath even _werewolves_."

Tomoe released Lupin, who paled, winced and collapsed on his chair, burying his face in his hands. After a long while, he looked back at Harry with moist eyes.

"Please... forgive me, Harry. I spoke as ill befits a Professor, let alone a firm opposer of everything Voldemort stands for. I can make no suitable excuse for my behavior."

The werewolf paused to catch his breath. "It's a gross injustice—the way Slytherin House has been blamed for everything wrong in our society. It pains me that my best friends and I shared that disgusting attitude while we were students here. I've tried repeatedly to offer Severus my apologies, and will continue to do so as long as I live.

"James could not be prouder of his only son. You have turned out to be the best person of us all."

Harry weighed the werewolf's words. Finally, he nodded.

"I forgive you, sir. Only please do not take everything the headmaster says at face value any more. Tomoe has never spied on Hogwarts faculty. She always makes herself conspicuous when in the presence of ranking humans. I know Professor Dumbledore fears that I may turn Dark. I wonder, though, how come he has no such concern about you, sir."

Lupin's eyes glowed. "I've never given him cause."

Tomoe hissed her approval. "_Excellent! He is no fool._"

Harry smiled. "_For that he deserves a reward._"

He embraced the werewolf tightly.

* * *

As winter struck with full force, Harry spent more and more time in the Guardian's Chamber outside classes. His usual companions had no choice but to accept that Harry simply felt more at home in a jungle, although in private Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley wondered if they were the cause of Harry's increased aloofness. In the end, however, even the blond and the redhead cherished Harry's presence when the green-eyed brunet joined them, and strove to not force theirs on him the rest of the time.

One Friday afternoon, Brehas lamented his enormous handicap in the hunt for the elusive Pettigrew.

"_It is too small a quarry for me, little siblings. You are best suited for such sport._"

"_Thanks anyway, Brehas,_" said Harry respectfully, before searching for Snape, whom he had left packing potions ingredients to his demanding standards.

"Over here, Jones. Any news?"

"Just that Brehas wasn't able to help Tomoe with her hunting."

Harry changed the subject. "Which reminds me, Professor, there's something I want to show you."

Harry summoned his Patronus, rendering the Potions Master speechless.

"Most impressive, Jones," exclaimed Snape when he regained his breath.

Harry smiled at the man's uncharacteristic display.

_Mum calls him Bagheera. But this panther is still caged. Let's see if I can smash that lock. I hope I'm not sending a lunge beyond my length._

"Thank you, sir. It was my independent Defense project."

Snape regained his usual scowl. "Ah, _yes_. Despite an instructor's mediocre standards, a serious student can always reap benefits."

"He's a werewolf..." started Harry.

Snape's eyes flashed. "Good to know my efforts are not wasted."

"...But his illness is controlled, thanks to your Wolfsbane. And you're a stellar substitute while he's indisposed."

Harry watched the sallow skinned man pace out his anger. His boots burned a figure eight pattern on the grass. His rant quickly erupted.

"Of course he would strive to earn your friendship. After all, the Headmaster hired _him_ for _your_ protection—against my recommendations, _naturally_."

Snape paused dramatically.

"Make no mistake, Jones. Lupin was—_still is—_an inveterate, spineless dunderhead. _He_ aided and abetted the very thing that so appalls _you_, the paladin of inter-House cooperation. And now, just as then, the headmaster turns a blind eye to the faults of his sainted _Gryffindors—_no matter the lives at stake."

"Professor Lupin does not deny it, sir. Moreover, he deeply regrets what happened between you."

"Does he, now? Not much use, such regret, a decade and half _too late_."

"You've kept me safe, sir, and he has not endangered me."

"_Yet_, Jones, he has not endangered you _yet._ Rest assured that before term ends, he will blunder, and _spectacularly_ _so_!"

"What satisfaction do you require, sir?"

"_Satisfaction_? _There can be no satisfaction!_ The innocent dead cannot be brought back! There can only be meager crumbs of justice, when the Dementors rip out the soul of that _murderer_ Black!"

Snape uttered the last in a low, cold drawl that marred the tropical ambiance.

"What about _your_ soul, sir?

Harry's whisper was little more than a sigh, but Snape caught it.

"My soul was ripped out thirteen years ago."

As if surrendering to karma, Snape decided to bare his soul. The man uttered his next words in that emotionless tone so often adopted by those who find their grief too hard to swallow. Out came the other side of the tale Sirius had stammered the night Irwin and Diane caught him. There were no discrepancies—Diane would give Sirius points for that. Snape, however, had more to confess.

"I overheard Sybill Trelawney speak a prophecy to Albus: _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._

"There was more to it, but Albus's brother Aberforth caught and ejected me from the premises at that point. I went to the Dark Lord immediately and he... he decided it meant Lily.

"My hatred for James was so great that I cared not if he and his son perished. I only wanted Lily alive. I begged the Dark Lord to spare her... but when I thought about it—would a man who could murder an innocent child in cold blood care the slightest whether the mother lived or died?

"I made up my mind to betray the Death Eaters. I went to Albus and swore fealty to him if only he saved you all.

"Then _Black _ruined everything!"

Snape spoke no more, but neither could he suppress the cries of agony that welled from his chest and poured forth—cries Harry had heard many times before. For Harry had soothed many distressed wild creatures, and nursed many more back to health after illness and injury. The teenager crept close and quietly put his arms around his embittered Head of House. He held on stubbornly against stiffening shoulders and the growl that reverberated from the black-clad chest.

"No, sir," he whispered firmly. "Your soul is still here, and it's high time you set it free! Do as Brehas did!"

Snape desired nothing more, yet out of habit he kept struggling.

Tomoe had remained aloof from the emotional scene, as had Brehas and the other inhabitants of the Chamber. Now the python rushed forward and nudged Harry aside, replacing the teenager's arms with her coils, his soft words of comfort with her croons.

"_Soulless you are not, my own—we are of one blood, you and I! It is well that your blood is warm, for it sings comfort to my cold one even more than the enchantments in this lair._"

The already weakened dam holding Snape's emotions collapsed as an astonished Harry translated Tomoe's passionate declaration—the ritual claiming of kinship among alien kindreds. Tomoe was in fact laying her life in Snape's hands, and through him, basically adopting the whole House of Slytherin, much like Brehas had done, first with Salazar Slytherin's family and now with all of Hogwarts. Few humans achieved that honor, fewer still earned it from serpents. Even in Diane's favorite fiction the panther had to beseech the python and not the other way around—and then only in the heat of battle.

The greasy git of the dungeons evaporated. The Head of Slytherin burrowed into the smooth flesh of the living emblem of their House, surrendered himself to the scaly embrace, sobbing and wailing his pent up grief. Tomoe loosened her coils enough to allow to the _Good Slytherin_ to lend his own warmth to the unfathomable embrace.

After that day, keen observers—such as Dumbledore, McGonagall and Lupin—noticed the bitter lines on Snape's face smoothed somewhat. The dour man's caustic wit lost malice. His beetle eyes thawed a fraction. Unable to think of another cause—after all, Sirius Black remained at large—they gratefully attributed it to some potion-making breakthrough and gave the matter no further thought.

The effect upon Slytherin House was more powerful. As their Head became approachable, the students began trusting him with their problems both trivial and critical. Soon they were reaping the benefits of Snape's copious experience. The solidarity Harry once angrily demanded from his year mates began to root itself, slowly but surely, in the House of Serpents. Tomoe, who had encouraged and supervised the whole process, was ecstatic.

"_Proud of your beloved hatchlings, aren't you?_" asked Harry knowingly.

If serpents could blush, Tomoe would have.

* * *

That Christmas, Snape received an invitation to spend the holiday with the Joneses. Diane's postscript—written in red ink much like the one the Potions Master used when correcting student work—wrenched a bellow of laughter from the Head of Slytherin.

"Don't you _dare_ refuse _me_, Professor_._"

Prior to Snape's arrival at Number Nine, Privet Drive, Diane approached Sirius with a harness and muzzle. The Animagus stared at her, thoroughly confused.

"Mrs. Jones? What...?"

"We're having a special visitor, Mr. Black. You will assume canine shape and wear these, to prevent _uncivilized_ behavior."

Truth dawned in Sirius's mind.

"Snape? You've invited _Snape_?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Mr. Black. My son's _Head of House_."

"But..."

"No buts, Mr. Black. This is _my_ home. Whom _I_ invite is none of _your_ business. It would behoove you to remember the conditions under which my husband and I granted you sanctuary."

Sirius lowered his eyes meekly. "Will you... tell him?"

"Yes I will, Mr. Black. I've told you before—you need allies from your world, and there's none better."

She then told Sirius about Lupin's presence at Hogwarts and Harry's confrontation of the werewolf.

"Have you... invited Remus as well?" croaked the Animagus.

Diane's glare was merciless. "No, Mr. Black. Professor Lupin does not require _special handling_, despite his shape shifting not being under his _conscious_ control."

After a violent flinch, Sirius submitted.

* * *

Snape thoroughly enjoyed the Joneses' hospitality. He particularly relished sparring verbally with Diane.

"What is it, Professor?" inquired Diane when she noticed the Potions Master's melancholy stare.

Snape came out of his reverie. "I was thinking you are like the sister I never had."

Diane reached across the table for her guest's long hand. "I had no brothers either. You shall do, Bagheera."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Why do you call me that?"

Diane's eyes were wide. "_You_ know _not_ the tale?"

"I remember the reference only vaguely. It has been many years since I left the Muggle world."

Diane licked her lips. This was a retelling she would relish. "Bagheera was a black panther, captive-bred. One day the lock on his cage was broken, and he returned to the wild. He became guardian to Mowgli, an orphaned child adopted by a wolf pack. In fact, Bagheera bought Mowgli the wolves' protection from the man-eating tiger who attacked his parents."

Snape ran his other hand down his sallow face.

"Diane Jones, has no one ever told you not to tickle a sleeping dragon?"

"Indeed, Professor. She never listens." Irwin's chuckle startled the Potions Master.

"How long have you been listening, Mr. Jones?"

"Not very. Di's right, you know?"

"Yes, yes. Your son must have reported our... conversation. Fear not, I was already thinking of a truce between myself and Lupin."

Irwin nodded approvingly. "Excellent, Professor. However, there's more to this. We need your help with a delicate subject regarding your world."

Diane whistled a signal, and Harry came into the kitchen with a rolled parchment in one hand, and holding Sirius's leash in the other. He placed the parchment on the center of the table, and tied the leash to a sturdy hook near the door. The black dog lay obediently beside Harry's chair.

"Professor, would you take out your wand?"

Bemused, Snape obliged.

"Now, sir, please repeat after me: _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_."

Snape's eyes bulged uncharacteristically when the Marauders' Map blossomed before his eyes. He turned a baleful scowl on his hosts.

"_Where _did_ you _get_ this?_"

Diane matched him glare for glare. "I beg you to remember your status as guest, Professor, not to mention the trust I just bestowed upon you!"

Spots of red colored Snape's sallow cheeks. Diane continued sternly.

"Our son learned your school's caretaker once confiscated this object. He asked Mr. Filch for it, but the gentleman had lost it. Then Harry received it as a gift from Messrs. Fred and George Weasley.

"Harry always intended to present it to you at this date. Happy Christmas, Professor."

Snape took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Please accept my gratitude and my apologies, then. You may not know this object holds... unpleasant recollections for me."

"We do know, Professor." said Irwin, laying a comforting hand on Snape's shoulder. "However, both our son and your world have urgent need that the past stop hindering the present." He paused, waiting for the Potions Master's assent.

"This past summer a certain man escaped from your world's prison. We have since learned of the unfortunate history between you and this man."

Snape's scowl returned. "Did _Lupin_ put you up to this?"

Irwin's eyes flashed. "Our son's _safety_ and our own _honor_ put us up to this. Don't misunderstand me, Professor. We acknowledge you're more than justified in abhorring Sirius Black. However, Mr. Black..."

Snape couldn't help himself. "You have consorted with that criminal?"

"_Yes we have_!" snarled Diane. "And we nearly fulfilled your greatest wish and saved your world's _gaggle of idiots_ the trouble! Yet we _didn't_! I entreat you to STOP interrupting my husband while he EXPLAINS our reasons, or you'll find out EXACTLY what a battle-trained Muggle can do to a wizard, no matter how powerful he is!"

Snape would never forget what wrath could make of Diane Jones. Before the dumbstruck Potions Master could react, Diane had jumped to her feet, snatched Snape's wand from his hand, and trained her revolver's muzzle on her unruly guest. After an unbearably tense moment, the Head of Slytherin burst out laughing.

"I yield, sister mine! Merlin, what a jewel you would make for Slytherin House, were you a witch!"

Diane let her ire ebb, and returned Snape his wand. She sat down, sheathing her own weapon. She burned her way into Snape's obsidian eyes with her hazel ones.

"Who says I'm not? Does your school not teach various forms of magic? Consider a wild animal's will to survive against all odds. Or a mother's passion and devotion. A warrior's steadfastness and tenacity. Haven't these earned my son a place in your House, as much as the fact that he can wield a wand?"

"_Touch__é_, Mrs. Jones. Again, my apologies. Please, Mr. Jones, continue your explanation."

"Thank you, Professor. Mr. Black confessed to his youthful crimes against you. However, he insisted that he is innocent of betraying our son's birth parents. He claimed that it was another of his friends who revealed the late Potters' whereabouts to the one you call the Dark Lord. A man by the name of Pettigrew."

"Black himself murdered Pettigrew. The viciousness of that attack plus his betrayal earned him imprisonment without trial." interjected Snape.

Irwin gritted his teeth. "_According_ to Mr. Black, Pettigrew framed him for both crimes. He faked his own death. Mr. Black contrived to escape from your Azkaban when he saw Pettigrew's picture in a newspaper. He intended to commit the very crime he was framed for."

Irwin pointed at the Marauder's Map. "When we immediately demanded proof, he told us of this map. According to Mr. Black, it cannot be fooled by magical concealments. It should yield the true identity of any person within its bounds, regardless of appearance. Mr. Black claims Pettigrew is presently at your school."

Snape cogitated for several minutes.

"I must grant that I cannot picture Black bowing to the Dark Lord... or to _any_ Slytherin, for that matter. I, of course, understand your desire to verify his claims before... taking action."

The Potions Master drew a long cleansing breath.

"You are right, Mr. Jones. I utterly despise Black. The thought of seeing him subjected to the Dementor's Kiss has featured in my daydreams ever since I received word of his escape.

"But you are also correct in that the past must not hinder the present." He pointed his wand at the parchment. "Care to tell me the words to clear it?"

"Just say, _Mischief managed_, sir." instructed a smiling Harry.

Snape snorted. "Predictable. Well, Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones, is this the end of the surprises?"

Diane gave Snape a measuring look. "You haven't asked about the nature of Pettigrew's disguise."

Snape returned the look. "I assumed you would tell me in your own time."

Diane smiled toothily. "I'm happy we understand each other, brother mine. However, I won't _tell_ you."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I will _show_ you. But first, I must have your wand, and your promise of civilized behavior."

Snape presented his wand, handle first. "I deduced as much. I will refrain from any uncivil behavior, if Black does likewise."

Irwin grinned. "Oh, he will, Professor. Di has seen to that."

* * *

The sight of Sirius Black in leash, muzzle and harness was enough for Snape to instantly forgive the Joneses their subterfuge. The Head of Slytherin did not break his promise, however, and listened attentively while the Animagus expounded on the events.

In a gesture that would become the rule when in the presence of his erstwhile enemy, Sirius spoke to his clasped hands. "He's been hiding with the Weasleys all these years. I want nothing more than to destroy him for what he did to James and Lily." he finished.

"_We all hunt the same quarry. We must move as one if we are to bring him down._" declared Tomoe.

Snape directed his answer to the python, but meant it especially for Black.

"So we shall, milady. So we shall."

* * *

Pettigrew lowered his guard near the end of term. He returned to Gryffindor Tower, much to Ron's initial delight... and subsequent, vehement disgust. As soon as he spied the rat Animagus on the Marauders' Map, Snape roused Tomoe. Crookshanks joined forces with the python, and together they gave a masterful performance of the predator's craft. The part-Kneazle maneuvered the devious rodent until Tomoe was able to envelop the stunted obese body in her mighty coils.

Their effort was almost wasted. Once Magical Law Enforcement personnel had taken control of the situation, Fudge and Dumbledore staged an altercation over Pettigrew's fate. Auror Dawlish grew distracted with the bickering, giving Pettigrew the chance to seize a wand and transform.

Severus Snape felt like he was seeing Albus Dumbledore for the first time. Unbridled ire sped his already agile reflexes to a lightning strike. Scurrying sounds were abruptly replaced by the sickening crunch of breaking bone and a pitiful, suddenly choked squeal. Everyone turned to see Crookshanks enthusiastically lapping up the spatters of gore on Snape's boots. Meanwhile, Tomoe was dislocating her jaw to fit the rest of the torn carcass.

Before Fudge could decry his actions, Snape's seething glare sent the man cowering. The inept Minister stood behind Dumbledore, muttering about unstable faculty members. The headmaster's gaze locked with his employee's. The two men could well be made of stone.

Behind Snape's eyes glowed the image of a beautiful, kind and passionate girl with lush red hair and radiant emerald eyes. _Lily Evans._ Dumbledore felt Snape's outrage thunder through his mind.

_Remember her, old man? Remember how I lost her to my tormentor for seven years? Remember how that pain unhinged me? How it drove me to the Dark Lord? Remember how he chose to target her when I brought him word of that wretched prophecy? Remember how I then threw myself at your knees? How I swore to do anything if only you warned her, saved her? Remember how you failed because of this vermin? And now you would have let him escape? Just how much lower will you stoop to get the Dark Lord where you want him? How far will you go in the name of the greater good, Dumbledore? Because if you go much farther I will NOT follow!_

The headmaster capitulated. Schooling his features, he set out to defend his controversial Potions Master.

* * *

The next morning, the neighbors of Privet Drive were woken by whoops and bellows of joy. An impromptu party was in full swing inside Number Nine. An ecstatic Sirius Black whirled an amused Diane Jones around, while a snickering Irwin Jones poured champagne.

In his office at Hogwarts, Remus Lupin gaped at Snape's extended hand. The Potions Master was no less forbidding, but his eyes showed his intent.

"A truce, Lupin. We have common enemies. Let us battle them, and not amongst ourselves."

The werewolf mutely shook the proffered hand.

In the Guardian's Chamber, Harry slumbered in a comfortable nook formed by two thick vine-covered branches, hugging Tomoe as a body pillow. The vast bulk of Brehas rippled lazily through the lake beside them.

Another school year was over.

Pettigrew was so much carrion.

Snape was moving on.

Sirius was free.

It had been excellent hunting, indeed.


	8. Flower Blossoms Red

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter 8: Flower Blossoms Red  
**

Remus Lupin heaved a great sigh. He stood reclined against a column in the Muggle side of King's Cross Station, waiting for his ride. The early morning bustle had ebbed already, a small mercy for the acute senses of a werewolf. Remus had much to meditate on. The past week and half had featured one too many wondrous events. Come to think of it, the entire past _year_ had featured an overwhelming excess of bewildering events, all centered around the youth Harry Potter... no, Harry Potter _Jones_. For in that additional surname was contained the crux of this whole mystery—just _who_ were these Muggles that had taken the Boy Who Lived, son of James and Lily, and forged a whole new creature? Well, he would find out soon enough. The Jones home was, after all, his destination today.

Meanwhile, the werewolf pondered how exactly he found himself bound for the current abode of the son of his late best friends. It all started with Severus, who came to his office bearing the proverbial olive branch. His saturnine colleague had returned the next day, bearing something else.

"It is imbued with a Locator Charm. Every month, at the precise date, it will warm up. You will have ten minutes to reach a reasonably secluded area. Make sure it rests on your hands, as after the ten minutes have elapsed, a goblet containing your scheduled dose of Wolfsbane Potion will be Portkeyed directly to its location. More precisely, the goblet _itself_ shall be the Portkey. You will have another ten minutes to imbibe the contents before setting the goblet down at a reasonable distance from your person. Do you consider these instructions to be within the scope of your abilities, or shall I write them down for you?"

Snape's jibe was not entirely uncalled for. Remus was inspecting the object with undisguised awe in his hazel eyes, seemingly abstracted from anything else. It was a medallion, about the same size of a Galleon coin. On one side it featured the likeness of a large hunting cat; on the other, that of a wolf. He came out of his reverie with a jolt.

"Oh! No, Severus, I understand perfectly. It's just that... _why_?"

Snape quirked his lips, patently amused. He then drew a parchment from a pocket, and handed it to the werewolf.

"You shall find the answer here, or rather, _there_, for this is merely an invitation."

Remus's eyes grew wide. "Diane and Irwin Jones? Harry's foster parents?"

Snape's eyes glittered as he recalled memories of his own. "Indeed. You will find them quite _interesting_ people, as well as worthy allies."

The Potions Master made to leave, but turned back at the door. "Oh, and, Lupin? If you value your pelt, do not _dare_ to refuse anything the Joneses bestow... or require of you."

* * *

Remus did not know whether to take that piece of advise literally or not. Then again, that python of Harry's was formidable indeed. The werewolf would not soon forget how Tomoe had immobilized him—one second she was dozing on a bench, and the next he was struggling to breathe from beneath those sinewy coils. He shook his head.

_Surely these Muggles would not set that reptile on a guest just for laughs?_

Just then, Remus felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.

"Would you be Professor Remus John Lupin, sir?"

Before him stood a man only less than an inch shorter, but large and muscular where Remus was wiry and lean. Like Remus, he was fair, but his hair was a darker shade of blond, and his eyes were more green than amber. His proud bearing marked him unmistakably as a warrior.

"Yes, and you must be Mr. Irwin Jones."

The handshake was firm and powerful. The two men walked toward the parking lot, and Irwin insisted on loading Remus's trunk. Then both men stood facing each other, studying and measuring. Then the werewolf experienced a very painful _déjà vu_.

Like Tomoe before him, Harry's father struck out of the blue, pose nor scent betraying his intention. The uppercut knocked Remus's breath out of him, and drove him to one knee on the pavement, clutching his stomach for the sharp pain. No more strikes came.

"That was for insinuating my son could have anything in common with his enemy besides magic, snake speech, and dormitory affiliation, Professor."

Irwin then shifted his stance to a non-threatening one and offered the dumbstruck werewolf a hand up.

_Bloody hell! So this is what Severus meant! I wonder if he was ambushed too?_

* * *

The ride to Surrey was uneventful after that. Remus extended Irwin his profuse apologies, and Harry's father accepted them gravely. Both men then exchanged histories and impressions of the situation facing Wizarding Britain. By the time they pulled over in front of Number Nine, Privet Drive, Remus completely agreed with Snape's assessment.

_Interesting people and worthy allies indeed. As usual, Severus hits the nail on the head. No, I don't think James and Lily would have the slightest objection at all._

At the door, Diane gave Remus a shrewd look after introductions and smirked.

"Irwin expressed our opinion, didn't he?" She giggled. "Oh, don't look so wretched, Professor. Do come in; be welcome to our home. I'll get you something to soothe your stomach."

Remus found Diane's tea very soothing indeed, and strengthening also. Gathering his courage, he decided to be frank.

"Thank you very much for the refreshment, Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones... if not for the blow." The werewolf smiled disarmingly. "May I ask to what do I owe the honor of your invitation?"

Diane smiled back. "You are welcome, Professor. And yes, you may ask. We have decided that a common friend deserves... _intensive therapy_ after a long time under less than wholesome conditions. We wish you to accompany him."

Remus raised both brows. "Common friend? Therapy? I'm afraid I don't understand in the slightest."

Diane whistled. "Perhaps this will clarify the situation for you."

Down the stairs came a grinning Harry, followed by the glistening, sinuous form of Tomoe and...

"P-P-Padfoot?"

Sirius Black trotted up to the bemused werewolf and thoroughly licked his old friend's face before taking a few steps backward and resuming human form.

"Hi, Moony. Long time no see."

* * *

It was their cue. The Joneses and Tomoe exited their sitting room quietly and left the two men to their long embraces, floods of tears, and stammering confessions. They had already started lunch when the two wizards rejoined them. Both men were still shaken from the reunion, but they had renewed their friendship.

"I don't know how to thank you..." began Remus, but Diane halted him.

"There is no need, Professor. Though if you insist, it will suffice that you escort your dear friend on his holiday."

The Joneses called it, purposely, the _Serious_ Holiday. What better way to heal the wounds inflicted by Azkaban and twelve years of estrangement than a year and a day away from the British Isles, all expenses paid? Diane, Irwin and Harry even took the two excited wizards shopping for proper attire and gear, before sending them off on a luxury cruise with leisurely interludes in all major European coastal cities from Scandinavia to the Balkans. Besides graciously providing Remus's Wolfsbane Potion, Snape handed in the werewolf's resignation to Headmaster Dumbledore. The Potions Master enjoyed letting the aged wizard believe Lupin's defection had been his doing.

Two days after Sirius and Remus departed, the Joneses did likewise. Snape saw them off at Heathrow Airport, wearing Tomoe's upper coils for a scarf and the rest of her length as an exotic stole. Now that the python's increase in size precluded comfortable air travel, she had chosen Snape as caretaker for the duration of the holidays. What better companion for a serpent, indeed, than the Head of Slytherin?

* * *

Bertha Jorkins was a compulsive snoop. This unfortunate habit had earned her enough Memory Modifications and Obliviations to render her unstable at best and a walking disaster waiting to happen at worst. Still she persisted. Perhaps this insatiable hunger for details from the lives of others had led the Ministry of Magic to retain her. Moreover, her superiors had sent her as ambassador to their counterparts in Bulgaria.

It was strictly a business trip, but Bertha couldn't help herself. As soon as she heard the rumors about strange happenings in a small rural town, she had to investigate. The locals spoke of angry ghosts ranging the neighboring forest, leaving a trail of dead wildlife in their wake. It would have deterred the staunchest sensationalist. Bertha was unhinged enough to brave the forest alone at night. She expected to find just a few angry poltergeists, easily scattered.

Instead, she found Lord Voldemort.

"_Imperio._"

Far away in a hut in a small African village close to the wild expanse of the Serengeti, one green-eyed youth roused violently from slumber. His yelp and the loud crash of his hammock against the dusty ground woke his parents in turn. Diane and Irwin Jones were shocked by their son's bleary eyes and haggard appearance.

"He's back..." whispered a trembling Harry. "Voldemort's back in Britain... made his first kill already..."

With heavy hearts, the Joneses bid farewell to the great African wilderness. Those among the local fauna that had struck friendships with Harry came to offer him their goodwill.

"_Our favor goes with you, young Speaker._" intoned a mamba. "_Take our gifts, freely given, to aid you in your hunting._"

Unimpeded by the underage restrictions of his British home, Harry conjured vials and flasks to receive the venoms and parts the envoys of the Peoples of the Grasslands willingly relinquished to him. Then he reluctantly turned away, grieving and irate at being snatched from a landscape that felt more like home than Privet Drive or Hogwarts ever could.

* * *

The very day of their return to Britain, Diane requested Snape's help. That evening, the Potions Master and Tomoe stepped through the threshold of Number Nine.

Harry described the eerie visions he'd experienced, featuring his scheming archenemy.

"He doesn't have a human body yet... it's more like a malformed embryo. He's being nursed by a giant cobra—he calls her Nagini. He Imperiused a woman from the Ministry and read her memories. There's a Death Eater being kept captive by the bloke's own family. They're going to free him and plant him at Hogwarts.

"Professor, I see everything Riddle does, like I'm standing right beside him! How can this be?"

Snape tapped a long forefinger against his chin, thinking hard.

"It appears your curse scar does more than just detect the Dark Lord's presence, Mr. Jones. You share a mind link with the Dark Lord. It is imperative that you master the art of Occlumency—shielding your mind from invasion—or he will use the link to possess you."

"You will teach him," observed Irwin.

"Certainly, Mr. Jones. Fortunately the Dark Lord is not yet aware of this mind link, or he wouldn't bother with planting a mole at Hogwarts."

"Shere Khan returns to the banks of the Waingunga River." Diane smiled at Snape. "Good thing we have Kaa and Bagheera here."

* * *

As was his wont, Harry applied himself sedulously to the new subject. Soon he could once again sleep soundly every night. A few days after Harry's fourteenth birthday, the Weasleys' aged owl came to him. Arthur Weasley had procured tickets to the Quidditch World Final, hosted by Britain that year. Harry politely declined. Such a multitudinous event was the perfect chance for Voldemort to wreak havoc. Indeed, the morning after the event, the Daily Prophet's front page featured the Dark Mark looming above the location of the Quidditch World Cup.

"This was _not_ the Dark Lord's order." stated Snape, after explaining the workings of the repulsive Dark Mark tattooed on his left forearm. "Those at the World Cup acted on their own, and then scattered at the sight of the Mark. _Unsurprisingly_, no arrests were possible."

"Seems the unnamed supporter attended the match," said Irwin, scratching his chin. "Remarkably sloppy on the family's part. The curse of peacetime strikes back, Professor."

"Indeed, Mr. Jones. And the worst is yet to come. The Ministry of Magic has decided to host _yet another_ grand event, and at Hogwarts no less: the Triwizard Tournament."

"Fools! Planting a mole will be literally child's play!" huffed Diane, who had read about the Tournament. "They should vote Mr. Riddle in as Minister and be done with it!"

Diane raised an eyebrow at Snape. "I wonder if Harry should attend school this term? He'll be wearing a bull's-eye for robes."

"The Dark Lord _will_ come for him."

Diane's eyes flashed. "_Then let him!_"

"Our son's no longer a babe in arms, Di."

"_Neither is he full-grown_! Tell me, Professor, can Harry best Riddle in combat?"

The Potions Master met her gaze levelly. "_I_ don't think so. Not _yet_."

"But all the craven pea brains who'd rather a _savior_ fought their battles while they pursue their gentle entertainments have other ideas, _don't they_?" snarled the irate woman. "Forgive me if I don't feel particularly charitable." she sneered venomously.

The obsidian eyes of the Head of Slytherin glowed with open admiration.

* * *

In the end, it was decided that Harry return to Hogwarts for his fourth year. He would be better prepared for the inevitable that way.

The school was abuzz with excitement about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. However, the announcement that only students over seventeen could aspire to the position of Hogwarts Champion caused general dismay.

Remus's leave of absence had left the Defense post open once more. This time, the appointee was Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody—an eccentric former Auror with a constantly gyrating magical eye.

Professor Moody's lessons were highly unorthodox, to say the least. During his very first lesson, Mad-Eye decided to demonstrate the Unforgivable Curses. Harry would not stand for it.

"That is completely unnecessary, not to mention unconscionable, sir!" thundered the green-eyed brunet as he levitated Moody's hapless experimental subjects out of reach.

Moody's magical eye fixed eerily on Harry, who met the unsettling gaze levelly. The Auror swiftly pointed his wand at Harry.

"_Imperio. _Stand upon your desk, Mr. Potter."

Harry felt a thick fog envelop his mind. The haze beckoned, offering comfort, warmth, bliss. But Harry could never believe such an offer from a source other than the wild. In this haze there was no flora or fauna, none of his brothers and sisters calling the hunt, no wind blowing in his face or rain drenching his skin, no rich smell of moist, fertile earth—no true warmth except the raging flame of Harry's wrath. Before he could take one unthinking step, the emerald orbs cleared and flashed, and a Quidditch-callused hand struck forth like lightning.

"_Petrificus totalus!_ _Incarcerous!_" barked Harry. Panting heavily, he strode up to the immobilized Auror and sneered down at him.

"HOW DARE YOU! SHAME ON YOU, PROFESSOR!" he roared.

Harry then turned to his thunderstruck classmates. His eyes fell upon the Gryffindor section. Neville quaked violently, fists clenched so tightly his nails had pierced the skin. Hermione sat like a statue, all blood drained from her wide-eyed face.

"Hermione? Neville?" said Harry in calm, soothing tones. "Would you please fetch the Headmaster?"

The two students nodded jerkily as they helped each other to stand. At the door Harry's voice made them pause. "Our Heads of House also, if you don't mind? Thanks, guys."

* * *

An extremely weary, tearful Albus Dumbledore hunched over his desk after Moody, Snape, McGonagall, Harry, Neville and Hermione vacated the Head Office. Alastor Moody had been Dumbledore's close friend for many years—his implicitly trusted comrade in arms during the First War against Voldemort. To have to reprimand Mad-Eye for terrorizing students—beyond anything even his controversial Potions Master had ever dared—did not sit well with the headmaster. That Mad-Eye's gaffe had incited Harry's rage and led the youth to seize control over the much feared and respected Moody disturbed Albus even more.

_Tom will soon regain his body. There must not be such strife among us. And Harry... Severus is right to chastise me. But he doesn't know my reasons. The boy carries a fragment of Tom's soul! There is no better alternative, Harry must answer to us... like you answer to me, Severus. It may seem cruel, but it is needful—Tom has tainted you both, and he must not win. I'm sorry._

* * *

"I don't like it, sir." said Harry to Snape, in the privacy of the Guardian's Chamber. "It's like we're being herded."

Dark eyes locked with green. Snape unbuttoned his left sleeve and rolled it up to his elbow. His Dark Mark pulsed—a truly nauseating sight.

"When the Dark Lord returns, Slytherin House will be expected to follow his call."

"_Never_." came the vehement answer, in mixed English and Parseltongue. From her perch on a nearby tree branch, Tomoe seconded the refusal.

Snape nodded, grimacing. "Many will see no alternative, especially those families with Marked members."

"What will _you_ do, sir?" breathed Harry.

Silence permeated the Chamber. Every living thing waited. Snape lowered his eyes.

"Albus will send me back as a spy. I shall have to play the part."

Harry sighed wearily, a sound echoed by the breeze against rock and tree.

"And we shall be forced to watch and expected to do nothing."

Snape placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, and spoke to the attentive landscape.

"For now, we are all forced to wait."

* * *

Late October brought the guests from the other two European Wizarding schools, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. They arrived in style with stunning displays of magical prowess. At the end of the Feast in their honor, the Goblet of Fire was brought forward. The powerful magical object shocked the audience speechless when it selected not three, but _four_ Champions.

The additional name was _Harry Potter_.

The youth scented the trap at once. Harry rose and took two steps forward toward the High Table. Then he drew breath, and his subsequent roar had the same effect of a Full Body Bind on all present.

"MY. NAME. IS. JONES!"

Pivoting smartly on his heel, Harry marched imposingly from the Great Hall. Once outside, he trotted to the Owlery, to send immediate word to his parents. Then he headed to the dungeons and barricaded himself in the Slytherin Common Room. Tomoe braced herself to repel any enemies.

"_The agent is here, Tomoe. What do we look for?_"

"_Skill enough for such deceit. Camouflage. Implicit trust from those who lead._"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "_Riddle once acted through Ginevra, but no mere student is powerful enough to fool the Goblet. The headmaster?_"

"_He would never jeopardize the rest of his younglings just to bring you down._"

"_True. It would be too easy to suspect the foreigners. The Ministry officers and the school staff, then. The only ones with the skill are Mr. Crouch and the Heads of House. The Heads would have resisted. Mr. Crouch?_"

"_Remember the all-seeing one._"

"_Indeed. Crouch or Moody. Double quarry this time. _"

"_Difficult hunting, the all-seeing one._"

Suddenly, the door shook under the onslaught of multiple fists.

"_Your sisters and brothers have come._" said the python, moving to let them pass. The Slytherins filed in and arranged themselves in a circle around Harry and their adoptive brood-mother.

Harry surveyed the room, nodding briefly at each of his Housemates. Then he smirked mischievously.

"Raise your hand if you doubt _Voldemort _is behind this."

A collective flinch rippled throughout the packed Common Room. Scores of eyes found the dungeon floor intensely compelling. Harry burst out laughing.

Theodore Nott recovered first. "Is _he_ here?"

"_His Lordship_ in person? No, but one of his Death Eaters is." He surveyed the gathering once more. "Something tells me it's not _anybody you know_," he drawled.

After another collective flinch, Millicent Bulstrode spoke timidly. "Father was at the World Cup. No one from their crowd raised the Mark."

Many upper years nodded at those words. Blaise Zabini spoke next.

"My folks aren't Marked, but they're in the grapevine. All that's come through is that everyone's worried."

Harry turned to Draco. Everyone waited mutely.

"Father led the Cup crowd." Draco admitted stiffly. Nobody in their House was comfortable speaking of the elder Malfoy, who had greased enough palms at the Ministry to avoid Azkaban after the incident two years prior.

Draco then nodded at those who had volunteered information.

"They're all saying the truth."

The Malfoy Heir finally looked around the room, gathering their House's silent unanimous approval before standing tall and drawing a deep breath.

"What do you want us to do, Harry?"

Harry rose, the perfect image of his warrior parents.

"We support the Hogwarts Champion, Cedric Diggory."


	9. Tomoe's Hunting

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter 9: Tomoe's Hunting**

"_Well done, my hatchlings!_"

Serpents are considered lone killers. Individuals are said to hold allegiance to none but themselves. Yet even the most ruthless of predators possesses a minimum of gregariousness. Among serpents, clan is sacred. Many share communal nests. Some nurture their hatchlings, in addition to ensuring their nests are well concealed. Others even bear live young and nurse them, after a fashion. Those who choose to dwell among other creatures have even broader horizons. Perhaps the broadest are those of such as choose to call humans clan.

"_At last we move as one._"

Tomoe's adoption of her human clan was complete. Her bliss was absolute, and her hunger, sharpened to its highest pitch.

"_Let the hunt begin!_"

* * *

The campaign was launched the next morning during breakfast. The Slytherin prefects gathered in front of the Head Table to make the stunning announcement.

"Slytherin House recognizes Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff House as the sole representative of Hogwarts to the Triwizard Tournament. We decry the rogue nomination of our Housemate Harry Jones as a grievous insult, not only to Cedric, but also to Slytherin, to all of Hogwarts, and to our honored guests from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. We respectfully urge that Headmaster Dumbledore and Minister Fudge adhere strictly to the laws governing the Triwizard Tournament since its inception and annul Harry's nomination immediately.

"_Go Cedric!_"

The announcement met with stark silence at first. A second later, the Hufflepuffs repeated the Slytherins' war cry.

"_Go Cedric!_"

The tide was unstoppable.

"_Go Cedric!_" Ravenclaw.

"_Go Cedric!_" Reluctantly, grudgingly, chagrined at following the lead of their traditional rivals, Gryffindor.

"_Cedric!_" Fleur Delacour and the Beauxbatons delegation.

"_Cedric!_" Viktor Krum and Durmstrang.

At the Head Table, the Hogwarts Heads of House raised their goblets in approval. Headmistress Maxime of Beauxbatons and Headmaster Karkaroff of Durmstrang echoed the gesture. The rest of the Hogwarts staff—minus a scowling Moody—followed suit.

Albus Dumbledore seldom allowed his emotions to show so plainly in his features. Eyes widened as the aged wizard wiped his brow wearily before gesturing for attention. Before he could collect himself sufficiently to address the audience, however, Barty Crouch interrupted.

"Nomination by the Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. Mr. Potter _must_ compete."

"HIS NAME IS JONES!" thundered the Slytherins.

Before chaos could ensue, the flapping of scores of wings announced the arrival of the morning post. The postal owls, however, only added more fuel to the inferno.

"Listen to this!" shouted George Weasley, eyes glued to the front headline of the Daily Prophet. "Adoptive parents of Boy Who Lived to remove him from Wizarding world!"

"It gets better!" chimed in Fred. "Irwin and Diane Jones, foster parents of Harry Potter Jones, began making arrangements last night to remove Harry from Wizarding society, following news that their famous son was mysteriously selected as an additional Champion in the Triwizard Tournament being held this year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"And better!" continued George. "Angry and disappointed at what they describe as the foolhardy and negligent behavior of the Wizarding community in general, and the apparent, persistent, and blatant disregard for their son's safety and wellbeing by the Hogwarts administration, the Joneses will proceed with plans to abandon the British Isles altogether should Harry's name fail to be removed from the list of Triwizard Champions immediately ."

Fred smirked evilly. "Readers will remember that since his arrival at Hogwarts, Mr. Jones has narrowly evaded highly suspicious attempts to involve him in confrontations with Dark forces. Rather than adopt a negative attitude in response, Mr. Jones has championed the cause of peace and cooperation among the Hogwarts Houses. Under his leadership, Slytherin House—traditionally reviled as a cradle for Dark witches and wizards—has become known as a paragon of respectability and honorable behavior, a truly welcome development for those of us who belonged to the House of Serpents in our youth."

"Ha! I knew Skeeter was a snake!" crowed George. He looked across at the House in question and winked at them. "No offense, mates!"

Fred cleared his throat. "This reporter wholeheartedly joins the Joneses in their more than reasonable request. Let no one forget the great service young Mr. Jones rendered our society while just a babe in arms. Is this _blatant disregard for his personal safety_ fitting payment for the vanquisher of He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"That's an excellent question, Fred. Wonder what the answer will be?"

Dumbledore finally found his voice.

"That, Mr. Weasley, is a question to be discussed _exclusively_ among the authorities involved. Off to classes now, children."

* * *

At noon, Cornelius Fudge arrived at the gates of Hogwarts, flanked by several ranking members of the Wizengamot. Every soul in the castle dearly wished to be a fly on the wall during the ensuing conference in the Head Office.

"The contract imposed by the Goblet of Fire is equivalent to an Unbreakable Vow." stated Barty Crouch impassively.

Mad-Eye Moody broke his silence. "I suggest events be allowed to unfold without interference, Albus."

"_Non! __Ç__a n'est pas possible! Il n'est rien q'un petit gar__ç__on__!_" Headmistress Maxime was scandalized.

"Ve vill not stand for this! If he is not vithdrawn, ve vill forfeit." thundered Headmaster Karkaroff.

Snape, again wearing Tomoe for a shawl, cleared his throat. "Headmaster, this contention is completely unnecessary."

Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout nodded emphatically at their colleague's suggestion. That was Tomoe's cue. The python slithered over to Albus Dumbledore's desk and reared upon her coils until she was eye to eye with the aged wizard.

"_I do __**not**__ appreciate your ill will against my hatchling, Elder. So terrible a crime you consider his survival? Is not the Abomination our common enemy? Remember well, O Elder, that for as long as he lairs in your domain, Harry is as much __**your**__ hatchling as __**mine**__, however much __**that**__ may vex __**you**__._"

Cornelius Fudge trembled in his boots as he addressed Dumbledore. "Wh-what d-did the s-snake s-say, Dumbledore?"

The Headmaster of Hogwarts repeated his earlier gesture of weariness, wiping his brow with both hands this time. He met Tomoe's lidless gaze intently, willing the python to read his thoughts.

_You would teach parenthood to humans, serpent! If only you knew what is at stake! For all the love you, Severus and those Muggles bear him, Harry is as much an abomination as Tom! Growing outside the magic of his mother's sacrifice, who knows what has become of him! Ah, well, only a fool would refuse your aid at this juncture. As much as I pander to the general belief that my age has dulled my faculties, my Professors and your precious hatchling know otherwise. So mote it be._

Tomoe, however, was no Legilimens. Content with delivering her message, she returned to Snape—who saw what the python did not... and had a very hard time repressing the urge to blast his employer with a few choice Unforgivables.

Dumbledore stood resolutely, and addressed the expectant gathering.

"Miss Tomoe has kindly refreshed my memory as to my responsibilities toward Mr. Potter Jones, Cornelius. I will now perform a similar service for all gathered here. This past summer, we agreed—while gathered in this very office, I might add—to amend the Tournament rules, in order to bar students under seventeen from the competition. Less than a month ago we came together once more to cast an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire, thereby irrevocably modifying the contract.

"Furthermore, the Goblet's selection of Mr. Potter Jones is undeniably the result of Dark influences. We all know such interference voids the contract automatically.

"Therefore, Mr. Potter Jones is most definitely _not_ obliged to compete, Barty. As much as some of us would have enjoyed to see Harry display his abilities, it remains his own decision—in consultation with his guardians and Head of House, of course—whether he will even deign to grace the execution of the Tasks with his presence."

At dinner that evening, Minister Fudge announced the result of the deliberations. The Great Hall erupted in joy. The _Good Slytherin_ had won free... for the moment.

* * *

The morning of the First Task dawned cold and clear. Harry made his way to the Quidditch pitch among his Housemates, who bore banners, buttons and sundry other equipment displaying their support for Cedric Diggory. He did not care for the spectacle he had narrowly avoided, but Tomoe had insisted despite the chilly weather. The python explained that Brehas too was adamant that Harry be present. As soon as they beheld the setup for the task, the serpents' unease made terrible sense.

"_Great Ones. Bound and forced to defend their young, for the __**amusement**__ of humans._" Scorn dripped from the python's forked tongue.

Harry felt his own sense of dignity answer in a deadly tone. "_I shall deal with this._"

So saying, Harry leaped off his seat and bounded toward the arena, giving a powerful impression of a large hunting animal heading straight for its prey's throat. By the time the staff ended their spluttering and tried to intervene, Harry had prostrated himself before the three irate dragonesses.

"_We are of one blood, you and I! I beseech you, Great Mothers, allow me to approach!_"

The eldest and most ferocious of the three, a Norwegian Ridgeback, turned her head sideways to regard the small human with a baleful eye.

"_Great is your courage, human hatchling, and you come bearing the Master Word of the wild kindreds. How came this to be?_"

"_I was nurtured by wise Elders of my kind, who brought me before the wild kindreds to receive instruction, as was the law in the days before the sundering of humankind._"

"_Well met indeed, that there still abides such wisdom among humans! It is clear that this outrage is not your doing, therefore you may keep your life, and long may it be. Do you plead for the others?_"

"_I plead only for the other hatchlings, my brothers and sisters, who knew not of this heinous deed. The Elders who wrought it are yours to do as you will._"

"_We would destroy them, were our young not imperiled. Free us, and our favor shall go with you always._"

Harry made a deep reverence before taking several steps back.

"_Reducto_! _Reducto_! _Reducto_!"

The magnificent beasts, now free, gathered their clutches and took to the air before the astounded handlers could reach them. Each of the three pits in the rock now contained only a single golden egg.

"Mr. Potter Jones! What have you done? How _dare_ you!" Cornelius Fudge was beside himself with fury.

"No, Minister. How dare _you_! Dragons deserve much greater honor than that! If you want to make those golden eggs hard to reach, seek animals who do not mind the chore—_after you explain it to them_!"

"Explain it to them? _Explain it to them_? Those are brutes we speak off! And _honor_? What do mere _animals _know of honor, for Merlin's sake!"

Harry's eyes flashed. His wand slashed the air faster than Fudge or any other adult could move.

"_Silencio_! _Incarcerous_! _Levicorpus_! _Protego_! _Sonorus_!" With the Minister of Magic bound, gagged and hanging upside down, Harry marched to the center of the pitch.

"Minister Fudge here has _kindly_ informed me that _dragons_ are _brutes_... mere _animals_! AS IF ALL OF US WERE NOT _ANIMALS_ AS WELL! Therefore, listen well!

"For fourteen years I have laid low. I have eschewed the trappings and fame of the Boy Who Lived with a passion. I have concealed the scar upon my forehead and declined conversation on the subject. I have striven to be just another young wizard.

"I HAVE ASKED NOTHING OF THE WIZARDING WORLD IN EXCHANGE FOR GETTING RID OF _VOLDEMORT_!"

Harry paused to savor the general consternation at the feared name.

"But this travesty has forced my hand." He paused again to wipe the concealer from his forehead, baring the lightning scar voluntarily for the first time in his life.

"I, THE BOY WHO LIVED, SON OF JAMES AND LILY POTTER, VANQUISHER OF THE DARK LORD VOLDEMORT, DEMAND THAT THE ENSLAVEMENT AND ABUSE OF NON-HUMANS CEASES AT ONCE!

"Should this request be ignored, I will leave the Wizarding world FOREVER. Mark my words: YOU DO NOT WANT THAT! Dark forces conspire against you _at this very moment_. If nothing else, the Horcrux incident two years ago should count as irrefutable proof that Voldemort is _very much alive_! He _will _return to finish what I interrupted fourteen years ago! ERGO YOU _NEED_ YOUR SAVIOR—YOU NEED _ME_!

"_ARE WE CLEAR_?"

With a gesture not unlike his Head of House, Harry stalked over to Fudge and released him, but did not lower his wand, or release his Shielding and Loud Speech Charms.

"P-Potter... you've gone mad... attacked the Minister of Magic..."

"I did not _attack_ you, Minister. I _restrained_ you. While you were acting irresponsibly, I might add. The dragons were still within firing range. They granted _me_ safe passage. Had I not taken charge of your person, they would have _fried_ you."

"Y-you c-can t-talk t-to d-dragons?"

Harry threw back his head and laughed.

"My best friends are a rock python and a basilisk, Minister. Dragons are ancestors to both."

"W-what d-do they w-want?"

"Only _peace_, Minister. To be able to stay in their homes, with their young, and not be hauled and manhandled for the sake of human entertainment."

"T-they've g-gone b-back t-to t-the p-preserves?"

"Yes. They were quite comfortable there."

At that, the riveted crowd erupted in laughter. Fudge realized he and Harry had an audience.

"Potter! Cancel that charm now!"

"I'd rather not, Minister. I want witnesses for this."

"Why you insolent..."

"_Expelliarmus_! That was very rude, Minister. Didn't you claim to be _superior_ to other animals?" Harry smirked as Fudge purpled. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. My request—my _demand_ as the _Boy Who Lived_. Will you grant it? Or do the dragons need to go before the Wizengamot?"

Fudge looked like he might argue. Harry stared him down.

"I'll do it."

Harry shook his head.

"Ah-ah, Minister. I need a formal pledge."

Fudge regained his courage.

"You go too far, Potter. I am the Minister here!"

"AND I MADE IT POSSIBLE FOR YOU TO _BE_ MINISTER IN THE FIRST PLACE! If not for me, VOLDEMORT would be ruling absolutely—and none too gently _or_ fairly, I might add."

That thought subdued Fudge completely. With a pained grimace, he complied.

"I, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, do solemnly pledge to present legislation for the betterment of living conditions for m-magical c-creatures before the Wizengamot."

Harry smiled wickedly.

"Thank you so much, Minister. Wizarding Britain should count herself blessed to have such a visionary Minister in office."

Judiciously applied flattery never failed to mollify Cornelius Fudge.

"Ah, no problem, Mr. Potter. Glad to have clarified that little misunderstanding."

"Glad to be of service, sir. Oh, and, Minister? The name is _Jones_."

Harry's subsequent manner of exit rendered those already speechless, practically catatonic. This made it possible to continue with the First Task rather briskly—Hagrid was swiftly enlisted to provide more tolerant magical creatures. The Champions had to brave hippogriffs, Thestrals and young Acromantulas to reach the golden eggs that contained the clues for the Second Task.

* * *

Harry's actions, however, unleashed a scandal of such epic proportions that it eclipsed news of the Tournament, and not in a favorable way. Harry had unwittingly crossed an invisible line in his moment of passion: prejudice, distrust and hostility against non-humans and part-breeds was far stronger and deeply seated than anti-Muggleborn sentiment.

The remaining month and half until Christmas was exceptionally trying for the Hogwarts population. Harry escaped the brouhaha by the simple expedient of exiling himself to the Guardian's Chamber. The rest of the school had no such alternative, and labored under an overwhelming deluge of Howlers. The insidious and strident scarlet menaces disrupted lessons, leisure time and even sleep. Dumbledore himself was forced to spend three quarters of each day at the Ministry, trying to defuse the scandal. Though outwardly the aged wizard made a grand spectacle of defending Harry's actions, inwardly he had no doubt of who was ultimately to blame: the same reptile who had reminded him of his duties.

Snape shared his employer's opinion. Displeasure radiated in waves from the Potions Master as he paced before the python and her boy, curtly demanding an explanation.

"_Of course it was our doing, mine and Brehas's_." admitted the serpent, finally.

The basilisk nodded, a motion that caused a wave to ripple through his lagoon. "_I heard of the ignominy that was planned. Honor demanded action._"

"That may be so, milord, milady, but it has... _complicated_ the situation greatly."

Harry snorted petulantly. "Fudge and his lackeys deserve much worse. Besides, I do not mind staying here until the time comes to face Riddle."

Snape's brow twitched. "Is that so?" he asked silkily.

Harry, however, was too absorbed with the image of the cowering Fudge to notice the danger sign. "Of course, sir." He exclaimed, smiling brightly. "And you have to admit it was bloody brilliant!"

Harry's laughter was cut off abruptly by a sharp Tripping Hex that left him drenched in mud and with a bloody nose. The hook-nosed professor sneered venomously at his quaking pupil, before launching into a scathing diatribe.

"_Bloody brilliant_. BLOODY BRILLIANT? IS THAT ALL YOU CAN SAY FOR YOURSELF, YOU DUNDERHEADED, IMBECILIC, MORONIC GRYFFINDOR SPAWN?

"Oh yes, James Potter must be cheering for you from beyond the Veil! Then again, he was never any good at long-term thinking.

"You, however, SHOULD KNOW BETTER! You should have considered, for example, the fodder against half-breeds—like your friend Lupin—that you have _graciously_ provided to the Dark Lord! Or the appearance of absolute political ineptitude that shall only alienate those former Death Eaters—like yours truly—who would much rather _not_ reprise their former roles! Not to mention that all the hoopla outside makes it IMPOSSIBLE TO HUNT THE AGENT DOWN!

"Consider yourself fortunate that Diane and Irwin ignore the mechanics of sending Howlers!"

Harry's face looked about to catch fire. Tomoe and Brehas were squirming, decidedly uncomfortable. Finally, the python slithered up Snape's back and laid her triangular head on his shoulder, contrite.

"_I am truly regretful, my own. Serpents are supposed to be cold-blooded. Perhaps you have warmed me far too much._"

Snape chuckled wryly. "As you have warmed _me_, milady."

The Potions Master's voice then became stern, as he included Brehas in his gaze. "In future, however, I expect you to leave tactics and strategy to me."

The serpents nodded meekly. Snape then turned to the still flushed Harry.

"As for you, punishment is in order."

So saying, the Head of Slytherin proceeded to hoist the green-eyed youth onto his lap, and apply a dozen hard slaps to his backside.

* * *

Snape did not return to the Guardian's Chamber until a fortnight later. He marched into the Chamber rather smugly, and announced that, mysteriously, the Daily Prophet had stopped milking the scandal for all it was worth. Moreover, Minister Fudge had issued a statement that, regretfully, Harry's quite valid concerns came second to the general safety of witches and wizards, given the possibility of a concerted attack by Dark elements. Relative peace had returned to Hogwarts.

Harry could not believe it. "Sir? How?"

Snape shrugged. "Don't look at me, Mr. Jones. A lowly half-blood teacher does not wield such power."

A resounding thud followed Snape's droll statement. Most uncharacteristically, Tomoe had lost her grip on the branch she was draped on, and fallen to the ground.

"_My dear hatchlings! Even in my absence they move as one! Oh, this is good hunting indeed!_" With the serpent equivalent of a sob, the python launched herself at the Head of Slytherin.

Harry could only gape as python and Potions Master splashed noisily into the lagoon.

"_Now __**this**__ is strange behavior for serpents._" quipped the amused Brehas.

Slytherin House celebrated the return of its second most notorious member with an impromptu party. Snape cast a comprehensive Silencing Charm on the dormitories to conceal the festivities. Harry did not care much for such excitement, but he had finally put two and two together. He was greatly indebted to his Housemates in general, and to Draco in particular. Tomoe too yielded meekly to the attentions of her hatchlings until her coils began to droop. At that point, Draco called an end to the revelry.

"_Sonorus_. Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please! While this soirée has been positively delightful, our esteemed brood-mother looks rather exhausted. Let us therefore continue less enthusiastically, that Lady Tomoe may catch some beauty sleep. Thank you. _Quietus_."

Harry levitated Tomoe to their bed. As he made to climb in beside the python, he noticed his roommates were standing expectantly in front of him.

"Knackered so soon, _Jungle Jones_?" drawled Theodore Nott.

Harry blanched. "_What _did you say?"

"Earned yourself a couple of new nicknames after the First Task. The Muggleborns are calling you _Tarzan_, whatever _that_ means. Don't worry, though, you're still the _Good Slytherin_." explained Blaise Zabini.

"Oh bloody hell."

"You could hardly expect any less, Jones, after entering the pitch—and exiting it—like some sort of half-ape half-leopard creature. For what it's worth, the performance was _quite_ amusing."

Harry looked ready to puke.

"Here, Jones. Drink before you pass out." Harry accepted the goblet from Draco. A second later he almost choked.

"W-what's t-this, D-draco?"

"Brandy. Figured you'd need it. Better now?"

Harry shook his head to clear it. "I... think so. Listen guys, I owe you my thanks... and my apologies."

"Accepted." said Draco, once more the spokesman. "We couldn't just watch while they skewered you, after you so wonderfully put Fudge in his place."

"Nor after you gained so much respect for our House." added Nott.

"Yeah, you made it _nice_ to be in Slytherin." said the hitherto silent Crabbe.

"You keep Dumbledore fair." muttered Goyle.

"Besides, Professor Snape made our families an offer they couldn't resist." finished Zabini.

Harry raised a questioning eyebrow.

"It was only logical, after Lady Tomoe formally adopted all of us," elaborated Draco. "It's wiser to be on your side, in the long run."

"_My_ side?"

"Well, Lady Tomoe's side, really. You see, the Dark Lord is none too pleased with those Death Eaters who left him to his luck after, and I quote, _you interrupted him_. And there is _no way_ our families will follow Dumbledore, after his treatment of our House. So we _follow our own trail_—another quote, I hope you don't mind."

Harry ran a hand down his face. "Let me see if I understood you correctly. After Tomoe claimed kinship with Professor Snape and by extension the whole House, you all formed a third force for the _war_? And your families _agreed_ to it?"

Draco nodded. "Like I said, it follows logically. Slytherins are always on the winning side."

"I'm flattered that you consider me and Tomoe the winning side, but... I am nowhere near ready to duel the Dark Lord, much less him and Dumbledore together."

Draco chuckled. "I do think spending so much time down in the Chamber has stifled your brains, Jones. Or else that brandy was too strong for you.

"Only a fool with a death wish would duel those two. We're _Slytherins_! Ergo we _sneak_!"

As his roommates burst out laughing, Harry grimaced like a Bludger had crashed into his stomach.

"You're... right..." he mumbled, before toppling sideways on his bed.

"Draco, what the _hell_ did you put in that brandy?"

* * *

Harry rejoined his year mates for the last two weeks of classes. Despite having much work to make up, he could not escape an ancient tradition of the Triwizard Tournament: the Yule Ball. It was an irresistible venue for adolescent angst, and the drama was driving Harry mad. The green-eyed brunet retreated to his sanctuary of the Guardian's Chamber as soon as he handed in his last exam of the half-term.

"Ahhh! Peace! Finally!" expostulated Harry.

Snape looked at him quizzically.

"Apparently that _wretched_ nickname gave everyone the idea to come to me with their dating problems."

"I shudder to think _which_ one."

The Potions Master roared with laughter at Harry's outraged scowl.

"It is _not_ amusing, sir!"

Snape was undeterred. "Surely you merely _feign_ disinterest in the issue, Jones. In fact, the onset of puberty would account very nicely for your appalling lack of sense at the First Task."

Harry's face turned crimson. "Sir!"

"Furthermore, I would be remiss in my duties as Head of House should I not remind you that such _entertainment_ is not only normal but _essential_ at your age."

At Harry's snort, Snape's voice became abruptly grave. "Need I remind you that neglecting this particular developmental milestone brought me only greatest grief?"

Harry sighed forlornly. "Sir, I _know_ that! It just... isn't a priority right now... more like a _distraction_. If you must know, sir, not _one_ of them—of either gender—interests me _that_ way."

"Really, Jones?"

"Really, sir. They're all so... _alien_. They would _never_ understand."

Snape chuckled. "Jones, every adolescent since the dawn of time thinks so, but I can assure you, it is _not_ so.

"My own spectacular failure notwithstanding, I assure you there are compatible persons even for someone with your special interests. Witness your own parents—_both sets_. I have never seen two souls as ideally suited to one another as Diane and Irwin—or as Lily and Potter, once he outgrew his arrogance. It would behoove you to think about it."

Harry shuddered. "Right now I can only think about Ron, complaining to everyone within range that Hermione already _had_ a date. Never mind that the big prat _wasted_ every opportunity to _ask_ her out first. _Disgusting_."

Once again Snape bellowed his laughter.

Harry growled. "You could allow _me_ to impersonate _you_ for a day or two, sir. No one would dare bother _you_ with such rubbish."

Snape's mirth evaporated abruptly. He stared fixedly at Harry.

"Since when have you been contemplating that idea, Jones?"

"Sir?"

"Impersonating me."

"It only crossed my mind just now, sir. When you _laughed_ at my expense. Why?"

"Because someone has been through my personal stores, pilfering ingredients necessary to brew Polyjuice Potion."

Harry's eyes grew wide. "_That's_ how he's doing it!"

"Jones, what are you blathering about?"

"The Dark Lord's _agent_, sir. He's using Polyjuice."

Harry recounted the deductions he and Tomoe had made after the incident with the Goblet of Fire.

"Either possibility would be most ironic," mused Snape. "Mad-Eye's record speaks for itself, and Crouch… he even sentenced his own son to life in Azkaban."

"What did Mr. Crouch's son do?"

"He joined a Death Eater family, the Lestranges, in the torture of the Aurors Longbottom."

"Neville's parents?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. Frank and Alice resisted as best they could, but were ultimately driven insane by the Cruciatus."

"That explains Neville's reaction when Professor Moody tried to Cruciate those poor insects."

"Indeed. Barty Crouch Jr. died after only a short time in Azkaban. Mrs. Crouch soon followed. The scandal ruined Crouch Sr.'s political career. As I said, it would be most ironic if he had turned to the Dark Lord in the end."

Harry turned the information over in his mind. He had the strange feeling that the answer was staring him in the eye.

"_It seems the Abomination taught all his hatchlings to wrap themselves in the skins of others._" said Tomoe. "_The one we hunt was concealed by his clan. Perhaps he now bears the face __of his sire?_"

Snape nodded as Harry translated. "Very well thought out, milady. Crouch, as Head of the Auror Office, had the means to carry out such a plan—smuggling his son out of Azkaban and hiding him until now."

Harry smacked his forehead. "The Marauders' Map! Polyjuice doesn't fool it!"

Snape removed the map from an inner pocket. As he examined the charmed blueprint, his lips drew back in a feral grin.

"_Touché_, milady, Mr. Jones. We currently have _two_ Barty Crouches in Hogwarts. Even more fascinating... in this very moment, one Crouch is with the Headmaster—while the second is with Mad-Eye, in Moody's office."

The Potions Master expression grew dejected. "But we cannot seize them tonight, without risking your innocent _date-challenged_ comrades," he drawled. "Speaking of which, Jones, have you decided who are _you_ escorting tonight?"

Harry retaliated without mercy. "Why, _Professor_, I thought you and I might _both_ escort Lady Tomoe. With her coils adorning our robes, we shall be the envy of all!"

Before Snape could think of a comeback, Tomoe slithered over, coiling her impressive length around both wizards' torsos, and crooning happily.

"Jones!" snarled Severus.

Harry guffawed.

"Sorry, sir... Tomoe _isn't joking_."

Snape heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"Well, if it must be done, let us at least be _strategical_ about it."

* * *

That night, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was treated to an extraordinary spectacle. Attired in silken robes on background tones of charcoal and silver—covered with sashaying emblems of their House tooled in emerald brocade—the Head of Slytherin and the _Good Slytherin_ strolled like kings into the Great Hall. Around their arms, shoulders, torsos and waists gleamed the luscious coils of Tomoe. Every so often throughout her length, shimmering gems traced the python's scales. A queenly headdress of emerald teardrops dangling from delicate silver threads sat gracefully atop her triangular skull. Every Slytherin stood to flank the two wizards, forming an archway with their raised wands all the way to the Head Table. As the stunning trio passed, the males bowed at the waist, and the ladies curtsied.

When Snape and Harry stood before the Head Table, Tomoe raised her sinuous neck and met each pair of eyes. In a sleek and stately gesture, she addressed the awed assembly.

"Lady Tomoe offers her respectful greetings to all of you, ladies and gentlemen." translated Harry. "She is honored to partake of the warmth and joy of this gathering, and bids me convey her best wishes to the Hogwarts Champion, Cedric Diggory, and her profound esteem to Miss Delacour and Mr. Krum.

"She desires all gathered here to know that, despite the persistent misconception, serpents rarely bear humans ill will. Unfortunate accidents occur solely when we represent a threat to their home and clan.

"It is Tomoe's ardent hope that, in a not too distant future, the effigies of her kind are no longer considered symbols of death and suffering, but instead tokens of life-giving warmth."

The python's words received a vigorous standing ovation.

After the Ball, the protagonists of the controversy sat comfortably in the Potions Master's quarters, relaxing. Tomoe, divested of her adornments, dozed in the couch and floor next to Harry.

"Tell me, Jones, did milady _really_ make that speech?"

Harry nodded. "I translated word for word… or rather, _hiss_ for word."

"Excellent. I must congratulate both of you on your performance." Snape sipped some of his wine. "Now we wait for the message to reach the Dark Lord. His agent will report immediately."

"What do you think Riddle will do, sir?"

Snape drank another sip. "Besides cursing everything in sight for the next few days? If his years as a disembodied spirit have not dulled his intellect, he will formulate an alternate strategy."

"He'll cut his agent loose?"

Snape nodded. "Thus flushing our quarry."

Tomoe hissed a comment.

"She says Moody was quaking in his boots, but Crouch might as well have been made of stone."

"I wonder. Do you remember the incident with Moody this summer?"

"Some trouble with cursed objects… dustbins, I think? Mr. Weasley dealt with it."

Snape nodded. "Perhaps it was not as trivial as it seemed."

"Mr. Crouch was at his job in the Ministry then."

"_One_ of the Crouches was at the Ministry. The question is, which one? And which one is here _now_?"

"Just keep checking the Marauders' Map throughout the day, sir."

"Indeed," agreed Snape, looking at his timepiece. "I believe it is now safe to return to your room, Jones."

Harry nodded, yawning. "May Tomoe stay here, sir? She hates the noise even more than I do."

* * *

Just as Snape predicted, the impostor slipped within the week. An uncharacteristically flustered Mad-Eye Moody visited Snape's office, ostensibly for a routine inspection. Inspecting his personal stores afterward, the Potions Master found the telltale ingredients missing. In a matter of hours, the false Moody was apprehended and forced to confess under Veritaserum.

"The Dark Lord found me after I sent his Mark into the air during the Quidditch Cup. Those traitors dared to amuse themselves, when they left my Master after the Potter boy took away his powers.

"But _I _remained faithful. My father knew. That's why he kept me under the Imperius Curse ever since he smuggled me home. He did not expect me to learn to overcome it. But I did, and the Dark Lord came to liberate me. Together we subdued my father and Imperiused him—oh, he did not appreciate the taste of his own medicine!

"My lord needed me for a crucial mission. He desired the blood of the Potter boy to create his new body. He knew that Dumbledore had invoked the protection of the mother's filthy blood. I charmed those dustbins to trip the old Auror's wards. He wasn't expecting the Dark Lord himself when he came charging out the door! I went on to impersonate Alastor Moody. Once inside Hogwarts, I Confunded the Goblet of Fire and turned the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey."

There wasn't any more to confess after that chilling tale. Fudge made to signal the Aurors to cart the prisoner out, when Dumbledore halted him.

"Cornelius, the public _must_ be informed that Voldemort has returned—_at once_."

Fudge blanched. "What? No, Dumbledore, I will do no such thing!"

"Will you risk everything for the mere illusion of peace, Cornelius?"

The Minister became furious. "How _dare_ you, Dumbledore! I have never had but the _best_ interests of the Wizarding community in mind! Right now, those interests are best served by proceeding with the Tournament after our success in catching this madman. Surely you won't believe his insane ramblings?"

"We should all believe his testimony, Cornelius. Voldemort will _most definitely not_ give up. That this particular plot was thwarted only means he will try another! We must be ready!"

Snape took his employer's dramatic pause as his cue.

"If I may be so bold, Headmaster. I think we should heed the Minister's wisdom. The Wizarding community has endured too many shocks in close succession. It is ill-advised to further stimulate mass hysteria. Besides, Crouch Jr. _is_ insane."

Dumbledore appeared to have swallowed a rotten lemon drop. Fudge, however, became jubilant.

"Hear, hear! I couldn't have put it better! Snape, I do think your excellent work in neutralizing this criminal deserves proper recognition—an Order of Merlin. Second class at the very least... I will insist on First Class, though!"

Fudge was already on his way out, issuing orders right and left, when Dumbledore faced his Potions Master.

"Severus, explain yourself!"

Snape met his employer's piercing stare with all the confidence of a master Occlumens.

"Your suggested course of action would not have been prudent at this stage, Albus. Panic only makes people bolt with no forethought as to _where_. In this case, for example, they would play _right_ into the Dark Lord's hands."

The real Mad-Eye was discovered captive within his own multi-compartment trunk. Magical Law Enforcement operatives, dispatched immediately to the Crouch residence, found the structure in ruins. Several weeks later, Barty Crouch Sr. surfaced alive, though gravely ill and incoherent, wandering the outskirts of Hogsmeade village. The elder Crouch was remanded to St. Mungo's Hospital. Once stabilized, he admitted to his role—at first willing, later forced—in the treachery. Father and son were reunited in Azkaban.

* * *

In a derelict manor on a hill overlooking the town of Little Hangleton, a hideous lisping laughter disturbed the nocturnal silence.

"Let them bask in the illusion of my failure for a few months. Bertha, my dear?"

"Yes, Master."

"Tomorrow you will contact Walden Macnair."

"Yes, Master. What shall I say, Master?"

"That I require him to indulge in judicious fraternization—with the blood-traitor Weasley. He is to procure the current location of Potter's remaining blood relatives. Tell him to endure the contact with that filth only for a short time. The end of his ennui and frustration will arrive quickly enough."

"It will be done as you order, Master."

* * *

The second half term was far from devoid of excitement for Harry. First it was the real Mad-Eye Moody, who was determined to undo the harm done by Crouch Jr. To that end, he asked Harry to serve as his teaching assistant. Their Housemate's added responsibility pleased the Slytherins greatly. Moreover, they set out to make the most of it, and made a show of decrying the Dark backgrounds of many of their families. They offered their parents' and relatives' past crimes as practical examples, and pleaded with Moody to teach them the most effective Defense techniques. The ploy was a total success.

Not long afterward, some of his closer acquaintances began approaching Harry with a curious request.

"We wondered if you would translate for us." began Hermione.

"Translate for you?" Harry scratched his head.

"Yeah, mate." nodded Fred Weasley. "We figured it'd be nice to return Miss Tomoe's courtesy."

"We'd like to get to know your basilisk friend too." added George.

Harry was speechless for a moment. "Wow, that's... great. Awesome. Sure, no problem."

The news spread like wildfire. Soon a schedule had been drawn for facilitated conversations across castle walls. Headmaster Dumbledore was less than thrilled when he discovered students were not the only ones participating in the bizarre exchanges.

"Severus, this is... ill advised. Not for you, of course, but the others..."

Snape scowled at his mentor. "Albus, it is shocking to hear such bigotry from you."

Blue eyes flashed. "It may come across as such, Severus, but it is only caution. We have no evidence of whether or not that basilisk can resist Voldemort. The same applies to the python."

"Always so quick to condemn serpents, Albus. Do you not see that this attitude of yours only makes recruitment easier for the Dark Lord?"

"Now, Severus, don't exaggerate."

"It is not exaggeration, Headmaster. It is a complaint I have heard for fourteen years. One I myself have made often."

"A minor issue for which you make up rather efficiently, according to members of other Houses, Gryffindor in particular."

Snape's eyes flashed. "I have _not_ needed to resort to that in four years, Albus. Thanks to Mr. Jones, I might add."

"Ah yes, Harry. I'm very concerned about the boy."

"You should be ashamed of doubting him—of considering all of _us_ tainted _a priori_."

Dumbledore's eyes flicked toward Snape's left arm. "In both yours and Harry's case, it is hardly _a priori_."

Snape's mouth thinned. "Then why did you bother testifying in my favor fourteen years ago?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Because of your love of Lily, Severus."

"The memory of that love lives on!"

"Does it? Would you summon your Patronus for me?"

Snape quickly obeyed. The figure that sprang from his wand surprised the Potions Master. For eleven years, it had been a doe—the same as Lily Potter's had been. Now, however, a mighty panther crouched before the headmaster's desk, before launching itself with deadly grace after prey only it could discern.

Dumbledore shook his head. "You see, Severus? Your heart's focus has changed. Lily's love was your protection. The same one I invoked for Harry when I left him upon his aunt's doorstep, but he grew up without. You are both extremely vulnerable now."

Snape lost his patience. "That is the most harebrained argument I have _ever_ heard, Albus! Being no longer crippled by pining after a _late_ old flame does _not—_in _any_ manner _whatsoever_—render me defenseless against the Dark! Just as close kinship with traditionally persecuted creatures does not _remotely_ doom anyone to evil! You yourself harbored and protected a _werewolf_, for Merlin's sake!"

"Remus only suffers an illness—through no fault of his own, Severus. He does not bear willingly the cursed mark of Lord Voldemort."

"Then sack me, if I am such a disgrace and liability! Expel me from the Order of the Phoenix! Cast me into Azkaban! Go ahead, rid yourself of my _tainted_ presence!"

"Now, Severus, let us not be hasty..."

"Hasty? _Hasty_? You are the one who fears I may become the Dark Lord's puppet the minute he summons me!"

"I simply fear the _possibility_, Severus. I know very well that you are a man of honor. And no other could fulfill your vital role for us."

"Explain yourself then, Albus! _Without_ attacking Slytherin House, if you will."

The aged headmaster drew a deep breath. Then he rose and walked to a cabinet, from where he drew a large stone basin etched with runes along its rim. He drew a memory strand from his temple and dropped it into the Pensieve. Then he gestured for Snape to enter the memory beside him.

Afterward, the two wizards sat in silence. The headmaster spoke first.

"_The power the Dark Lord knows not _was the magic of Lily's loving sacrifice, contained physically in her blood. It was never enacted, Severus—the Muggles prevented it by snatching Harry before Petunia Dursley could claim him and seal the pact. The prophecy is void—Harry is no longer Voldemort's slayer. He remains, however, _marked as his equal_.

"Usually, I would not set this much store in a prophecy. It _is_, after all, _a rather imprecise branch of magic_—to quote Minerva's wonderful turn of phrase. In this case, however, I have made an exception, for reasons I will not elaborate on right now."

"Why not?" inquired Snape.

"Because as skilled an Occlumens as you are, I still do not wish the information that close to Tom. Suffice it to say the rules of the game have changed, and we cannot rely on Harry any longer."

Snape huffed. "Interesting conclusion. What made you reach it, after _three years_ of eager attempts to try him against the Dark Lord?"

"That is another aspect of the situation I cannot discuss in detail with you, Severus. Suffice it to say it has been, _partly_, the plot you so cleverly unraveled recently."

Snape's scowl deepened, and he rose to take his leave. "You think the Dark Lord will not come after Jones? Then he already knows what you are so desperate to conceal, _making this farce utterly pointless_!"

"Severus." The Potions Master stopped, hand on the doorknob. "Tom does _not_ know _yet_ of Harry's vulnerability. It is, however, a simple matter of time until he discovers it. Forewarned is forearmed, as the proverb goes.

"You have transferred your love from mother to child. While ordinarily such an action would be most laudable, in this case it only serves to blindside you.

"I urge you to distance yourself from Harry, and to steel yourself for the worst. Tom _will_ try to attack us through the boy. Without the protection of Lily's blood, he _will_ succeed."

Snape forced himself to appear calm until he was at a safe distance from the Head Office. Then he broke into a run, as if a hellhound were snapping at his heels. He did not slow his pace until he reached the Owlery.

_Damn you, Albus. Fourteen years ago, you found __**me**__ disgusting. The feeling is now __**entirely mutual**__._

* * *

Despite his dire warning to his Potions Master, Dumbledore did not act against the crowds that gathered daily to speak with Brehas on one side and Tomoe on the other. In fact, to all appearances, the Headmaster of Hogwarts remained Harry's staunch defender—the same as during the crisis of the First Task.

There was to be no repeat performance during the Second Task. On the day before the competition, the organizers received an astonishing message.

"What do you mean, they won't allow us?"

"Exactly that, Cornelius. Merchieftainess Murkus is adamant that we not burden her people with standing guard over children, enchanted or not."

"This is intolerable!"

"Actually, Cornelius, it is _your_ doing... at least, technically. When you gave your pledge to Harry, the various communities of magical creatures interpreted it as an official recognition of their sovereignty by witches and wizards."

Fudge looked about to tear out his remaining hair. However, he could not recant his pledge without starting a massive rebellion. Thus the Second Task no longer featured _people_ as the _something precious_ the Champions must retrieve. Instead, the competitors were required to recover sentimentally valuable personal belongings from the depths of the Black Lake. The merpeople, resentful of even that much human presence within their realm, made that apparently simple action quite the chore.

* * *

In preparation for the Third Task, Rubeus Hagrid gained a student assistant. Notifying the chosen student was a task for the youth's Head of House.

"They w-want m-me t-to _what_?" stammered a flustered Harry.

Snape's lips were thin, and his beetle-black eyes glinted cruelly. His tone was bitingly glacial. For this meeting, the Potions Master had chosen his office instead of the Guardian's Chamber, and requested that Tomoe absent herself for the duration. Harry had double the reason to tremble.

"You heard me perfectly, Jones. Report to Hagrid at your earliest convenience tomorrow. You are excused from lessons while carrying out your duties."

"But, sir! I c-can't! I..."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You dare to pretend before _me_? I will not believe for a _second_ that you would miss the chance to play... what is it the children say? Ah yes... _Tarzan_."

Harry let himself fall bonelessly on the hard chair behind him, burying his head in his hands.

"Sir... you d-don't un-underst-tand..."

Snape's expression was feral. "Oh? Pray tell, Jones. You were not actually... _thinking_... when you requested this? When you broke your word of coming to _me_ before taking any action of this magnitude!"

Harry shot up straight. "No! No, sir, I swear—this has to be Hagrid's idea, or... or the headmaster's. They must have figured it out."

"Figured _what_ out, Jones?"

"That I can't... can't _control_ it, sir."

"Stop blithering and explain yourself, idiot child!"

Harry started weeping miserably. "I c-can't k-keep f-from g-going _w-wild_, s-sir. It's like... like I'm b-being p-pulled inside out. The m-magic in t-the F-forest, it... it makes me feel like I'm going to die if I don't... let myself just... _go_!" he wailed disconsolately.

"That's why Mum and Dad take me to a different... _wilderness_ every summer. So I can _feed_ this _whatever-it-is_, and not _flip_ when I'm here. I thought you knew... that Mum had explained it to you by now."

It was Snape's turn to cover his face, out of chagrin. "Jones, I owe you an apology. I knew you avoided the Forbidden Forest—your Housemates describe you as _uncommonly stiff_ during Care of Magical Creatures. It struck me as curious, but I gave it no further thought, assuming you would have your reasons. It did not occur to me that those reasons could be this grave.

"In my defense, I..."

"You cannot bring yourself to forget last half-term's fiasco. I understand, sir. It really _was_ stupid." Harry grimaced painfully. "At least it is a perfect example of what I mean."

"You couldn't help it."

Harry nodded, and did not lift his eyes. "More than that, sir. I didn't _want_ to."

Snape walked around his desk. He enlarged Harry's chair to accommodate two more comfortably than it did one. Then the Head of Slytherin sat close to his overwhelmed charge and wrapped him in a warm and soothing embrace.

"Hush, child. I understand perfectly now, and am terribly sorry that I did not surmise the truth of the situation earlier."

Harry burrowed hungrily, drawn by the irresistible taste and aroma of fresh potion ingredients, of earth and wind, of dew and cauldron flame. He fancied the heavy black robes silky feline fur, the rippling muscles and iron sinew those of the character Diane saw in his saturnine professor.

_Bagheera... my Bagheera_.

"I _try_ so _hard_, sir. I _really_ do. Dad _trained me _from the moment he learned I was a Parselmouth. Mum... I'm pretty sure the only thing keeping her together is that she's _Muggle_. She can't... _feel it_ like I do."

"Actually, Jones, I'm pretty sure Diane _does_ feel it." Harry snuggled closer—to him the man's baritone was a panther's throaty purr. "I have no doubt it is the reason she embraced military discipline on the one hand, and _literary fiction_ on the other. Moreover, she's been treating herself with judicious doses of... _wilderness_, as you put it—_decades_ before you came along."

"Then... you don't think it's magic?"

"On the contrary, it _is_ a _form_ of magic. A sort _we_ neither train _nor_ look for in the first place. Diane once made a joke about it. _Who says I'm not a witch_, I believe her phrasing was. At the time I was too... taken aback by her... _ferocity_ that I did not catch the veiled hint for what it was."

Snape scratched his chin pensively. "It _is_ also the missing part of the puzzle that has Albus so flustered."

"Sir?"

"You are aware that the headmaster fears you will turn to the Dark." At Harry's nod he continued. "Until a short time ago, I ascribed that fear to mere bigotry. However, after the last time I chastised the headmaster for his attitude, he opened up slightly about his reasons."

"What are they?"

"For one, the prophecy. Or rather, the part I did _not_ hear, that terrible evening: _And the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal. But he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not. And __either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives_."

Harry snorted. "That's even worse _gibberish_ than the first part! And Professor Dumbledore _actually_ believes _all of it_?"

Snape chuckled. "Indeed. The first portion alone could have referred to either of two children—yourself, and your frequent Gryffindor partner in my class, Mr. Longbottom."

"Neville? Oh dear, I hope he _never_ finds out!" Harry snorted. "But even what you just mentioned is preposterous! What am I supposed to do—teach Riddle that _all work and no play makes Tom a dull boy_?"

Snape's rich laughter resonated like a mighty roar. "Hysterical though that would be, it is not at all what the headmaster has in mind. He identified the _power the Dark Lord knows not_ as the magic of Lily's loving sacrifice. It is a very ancient and obscure piece of blood magic. What it amounts to is that you would be physically shielded against the Dark Lord—he would suffer great pain if he touched the merest hair on your head. It would also physically block the Dark Lord from approaching your place of residence."

Harry gave a wobbly smile. "Well, _that_ sounds rather brilliant."

Snape's lips quirked. "Yes. However, Albus is convinced you have no such power aiding you."

"What? Why?"

"According to our esteemed headmaster, for this power to be activated, you needed to be raised by none other than _Petunia Dursley_."

"WHAT? He's definitely gone _nutters_! The power of _love_ had to be activated by _Aunt Petunia_? The woman _hates_ magic—so much so that she encouraged my cousin Dudley to bully me at school, without either of them having met me personally. They only ever saw me when I walked past their house. Growing up with them would have been _anything but full of_ _love_."

Snape chuckled at that. "Very true. I had the misfortune of making Petunia's acquaintance when we were children. If anything, adulthood must have rendered her even _less_ palatable."

Harry stopped mid-laugh. "Wait, sir! Professor Dumbledore _can't_ be right! When he visited after I received my Hogwarts letter, he said he could feel wards around our house! In fact, he was thoroughly dumbfounded."

"Yes. In his infinite wisdom, however, he concluded that those wards must have been wrought via the Dark Arts."

Harry began convulsing with laughter. His Head of House joined him enthusiastically a second later.

* * *

As it turned out, the suggestion to involve Harry in the preparations for the Third Task came from Percy Weasley, of all people. The former Head Boy of Hogwarts was acting as interim Head of International Magical Cooperation, pending approval from the Wizengamot. Wizarding Britain's highest governing body enthusiastically confirmed Percy's promotion after the unprecedented results of his idea.

Harry was halfway persuaded by then. He made up his mind when Professor Snape gave him an enchanted medallion—similar to the one the Potions Master had presented Remus Lupin with at the beginning of summer—as a safeguard against _losing_ himself.

Hagrid had missed Harry something terrible since the youth had become aloof after his first year, and was eager to make up for the lost time. Conveniently, they had long hours of work ahead of them. Combing the Forbidden Forest, seeking the cooperation of its inhabitants, was a neither easy nor amenable task for witches and wizards. Hagrid's astonishment was therefore great, when he realized the degree of respect Harry had earned, even among the most vicious of the Forest's denizens.

"Hail, human foal favored by dragons. We shall escort you on your journey." intoned Bane, Herdmaster of the centaurs, as soon as they stepped beyond sight of the castle.

Harry prostrated himself, making sure to very visibly place his wand horizontally at Bane's sharp hooves.

"We are of one blood, you and I. Humbly I accept the great honor you bestow upon us."

Hagrid couldn't stifle a loud gasp. Bane threw back his head and laughed.

"Well met, wise foal. You are a credit to your kind. Rise, and retrieve your weapon. From now on we shall know it, and grant free passage to any you speak for." The proud half-man, half-horse turned to Hagrid.

"And you, Hagrid. How come you had not brought him before us until now?"

"I didna know 'e's 'ready _taught_!"

"Did not know? Or heard otherwise from your Master, and distrusted before asking?"

Hagrid did not reply. The flush on his cheeks was eloquent enough.

The surprises continued to pile on the befuddled half-giant during the following days. One by one the creatures of the Forbidden Forest continued to offer Harry their favor. Time after time Harry willingly placed his life in their appendages while firmly speaking the ritual words for claiming kinship. Most shocking of all instances was the exchange with the Acromantulas.

The entire colony of gigantic magical spiders was descended from none other than Aragog—Hagrid's pet at the time Tom Riddle framed him. Before entering the Forest that day, Harry had visited Brehas. Basilisks were the hereditary enemies of the Acromantulas, the serpents' poison the only one stronger than the spiders'. Brehas had sent Aragog a one-of-a-kind olive branch.

"Brehas, King of Serpents and your ancient enemy, bids me present this to you, Aragog of the Spider People, as a token of peace. One of his own fangs, complete with venom sac. If your People dip the tips of their pincers in the venom, Brehas shall not touch them. They will also become immune to the venom."

Harry held the long fang aloft in his hands, head bowed upon one knee. None of them moved for a long and nerve-wracking moment. At last, Aragog clicked his pincers, and Harry felt the load lift from his hands.

"Rise, young human. Word of your coming reached us long ago. Well met, and well met again. Tell our enemy that we accept his token of peace. Since we are possessed of nothing he has need of, let your life and word of our decision be our token. Our favor goes with you."

"We are of one blood, you and I. Gladly I shall bear your response. My deepest gratitude to you, mighty Aragog, for your priceless boon."

Harry's solemn declaration was followed by a violent thud. It took Harry _forever_ to carry the unconscious Hagrid back to the castle, Floating and Cushioning Charms notwithstanding.

* * *

The Third Task proved nearly insurmountable. The living maze rose voraciously against the Champions from the moment they stepped past its containment wards. Roots tripped them and vines sought to strangle them. Mud pits opened to swallow them. Walls shifted explosively around them. Wind, rain and lightning hunted them from above. Sphinxes demanded answers to devious logical puzzles. Centaurs challenged them to duels before letting them pass. Seemingly innocent unicorns charged them, their horns, lances seeking their hearts. The more ordinary creatures gave them no quarter either—insect swarms kept thrashing away their Shield Charms, birds dove missile-like, rodents climbed up under their robes, biting harshly the whole time. The larger beasts... it mattered not the slightest whether their usual character was gentle or fierce—these three humans were bitter enemies, when not _prey_.

It took the three Champions an agonizing hour, mired just a handful of lengths from the starting spot, to decipher the only means to progress. Solely by working together could they hope to tame the edge off that magical jungle's hostile contempt. Even so, Fleur Delacour opted to withdraw after another grueling hour. Cedric Diggory and Viktor Krum agreed to press on, their determination alone earning them access—at last—to the heart of the maze they no longer cared to reach. They had become much too preoccupied with their survival.

An audience seamlessly unified in its affections exploded in thunderous approval, as Cedric and Viktor simultaneously placed their violently quaking hands—the others were clasped in a stranglehold between them—to each handle of the restored Triwizard Cup. In a stunning display of sportsmanship, Cedric requested that Viktor be allowed to carry the Cup back to Durmstrang. It was the least he could do, said the Hogwarts Champion, cheeks crimson—his Durmstrang counterpart's familiarity with the Dark Arts had been instrumental in their triumph.

Despite his pupil's hard-won glory, Igor Karkaroff was anything but enthused. The Headmaster of Durmstrang was pale-faced and twitching when he stopped by Snape's office on the eve of his delegation's departure. He kept scratching the place where his Dark Mark pulsed, as he pleaded with Snape to accompany him in his flight, as soon as they received the first sign of the Dark Lord's return to full power.

"Vot else can ve do, Snape? He vill kill us!"

"Not if we act wisely."

"Vot? To return is to die even quicker!"

"No. The Dark Lord cannot afford to kill any who still answer to him... or pretend to."

"I vill not vork for Dumbledore!"

Snape leaned back in his chair, studying Karkaroff intently. Finally he smirked. "Neither will I. In the end, there is little difference between him and the Dark Lord."

Karkaroff's eyes widened comically. "You haff founded a third column?"

Snape waved his wand, sending sparks in a prearranged signal. Karkaroff blanched as Tomoe emerged from the door to Snape's bedroom, and approached until she had draped herself over Snape's shoulders. The python raised her head toward Karkaroff, her sinuous neck undulating hypnotically. The man dared not flinch, and wisely submitted to the serpent's attentions. Finally Tomoe nodded at Snape, who returned the nod before chuckling at their trembling guest.

"Not I. _She _has. Meet the adoptive brood mother of Slytherin. Unlike the Dark Lord, Lady Tomoe is a _real_ serpent, perfectly _sane_, keenly _intelligent_, and possessed of _quite_ a _pleasant_ personality. Instead of devouring us at the slightest whim, she will cherish and respect us in exchange for the same treatment. It would behoove you to consider it very seriously."

"V-vot of the others?"

"Those with children at Hogwarts already favor this option."

"That still leaves out enough to kill us all!"

"We have superior numbers. Not to mention the backing of every magical _and_ non-magical life form in the castle premises and their periphery. Oh, and did I mention the staunch approval of the _Boy Who Lived_?"


	10. Rotten Boughs and Jackal Folk

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter 10: Rotten Boughs and Jackal Folk**

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin arrived in London on a sweltering July morning. After their luxury cruise ended, the two wizards loitered in mainland Europe for another month. They procrastinated on crossing the Channel as much as possible, dreading whatever new disaster the British Wizarding community had wrought for itself in their absence. Finally, the Animagus and the werewolf found their steps faltering, the glow of foreign dawns and sunsets fading, and their nerves tingling with anticipation of new challenges. At last they made haste toward their native soil.

They hailed the Knight Bus and asked Ernie to drop them off within walking distance of Little Whinging. Despite the oppressive heat, Sirius was skipping. He could not wait to see his godson again, but above all he could not wait to hug the stuffing out of Irwin and Diane. He had not been the recipient of such unbounded generosity since the Potters had welcomed him when he ran away from the stifling domains of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.

_Which I now have to go back to... the actual __**house**__, I mean. It is mine after all. For a few days, though, I'll unwind at the Joneses'._

His skip had faltered momentarily at the memory of his family dwelling, but picked up once more after he shoved the issue to the back of his mind. He looked sideways to find his friend also caught in his own pondering.

"A Knut for your thoughts, Moony."

The werewolf smiled. "Just wondering _what_ is the situation here, Padfoot. The Joneses were adamant we cut ourselves off from the Wizarding community during vacation—so _much_ must have happened!"

Sirius grimaced. "Yeah, and I bet most of it's unpleasant. Let's enjoy our blissful ignorance a half hour more, Moony."

The werewolf smiled again. "It _has_ been blissful. I hadn't seen you skip like that since we were teenagers."

Sirius laughed. "You mean I _actually_ grew up at some point?"

Remus joined in the mirth for a while, but at last it ebbed.

"We all did, Padfoot. Rather rudely, too. That's why the Joneses sent us away."

Sirius nodded. "_Therapy_. I'd say it worked, don't you think?"

Remus found his laughter again. "Oh yes, it most certainly did. Whatever we find here, we'll have a year worth of memories to fall back on."

Sirius and Remus stood in the porch of Number Nine, Privet Drive, looking at each other, trying to decide who would knock first. The decision was made for them as the door opened before either could raise a fist to it. The sight that met them shocked them speechless.

Before them, clad in serviceable Muggle jeans and black buttoned shirt, stood none other than Severus Snape.

* * *

_Snivellus? What in the hell?_

Fortunately Sirius caught himself and instead exclaimed "Snape?"

The Potions Master's lips curled slightly, obviously amused by the gaping expressions of his old rivals. The Animagus and the werewolf took in Snape's silky and shiny hair, gleaming white teeth, and the much healthier tint of his skin.

"Where are the Joneses? _You_ are house-sitting for them?" chorused the two Marauders.

Snape's beetle-black eyes glinted momentarily, and the air seemed chill despite the heat wave. The truce engineered by the Joneses notwithstanding, the last two Marauders and Snape were _anything_ but chummy.

_Such wit from Gryffindors._

But the facetious reply was never uttered. In fact, the dour man's usual biting tone was strikingly absent.

"Black, Lupin. Welcome back to the British Isles." When he paused, Remus and Sirius could see the tiredness in Snape's features.

"Diane, Irwin and Harry left on vacation immediately after school year end. All they would reveal about their destination was that they were bound for the Americas.

"They asked me to watch over their property. They had reason to believe certain people would attempt to snoop around."

"Well, Severus, you _are_ the best for that job." Remus, ever optimistic and genial, extended his hand. He nudged his best friend to do likewise.

"Thanks for receiving us." Sirius made the effort. After all, he owed his life and freedom to this man. And he had promised the Joneses he would be civil. He would rather die than disappoint the wonderful, quirky clan of his beloved godson.

_Which reminds me..._

"Snape? What's been going while we were away?"

Before Snape could answer, Tomoe slithered over the Potions Master's shoulder and looped her coils around the Animagus and the werewolf.

"Hi, Tomoe. How have you been?" greeted Remus.

The python crooned, obviously pleased, and turned to gaze at Sirius.

"Hey, snake girl. Caught many rats?"

Tomoe tickled Sirius's nose with her forked tongue, making the Animagus jump. Sirius glanced warily at Snape, expecting the man to laugh, but Snape merely stood aside and gestured for his erstwhile nemeses to come in.

Door locked and wards in place, the Potions Master set out to play host. After showing the two Marauders their quarters, he began to prepare a light but substantial lunch.

Remus tried to stop him. "Severus, that's very kind of you, but there's really no need..."

Snape scowled impatiently. "I assure you, Lupin, there _is_ need. You do _not_ want a full briefing on an empty stomach—nor on one under strenuous activity."

Remus gulped, nodded, and joined Sirius on the couch.

The three wizards partook of the food and drink in uneasy silence. The air was heavy with questions. When all lowered their cutlery, Snape cleared the table with a quick string of household charms. Then he signaled for the others to wait, and went into the room he was currently occupying. He returned with a very familiar object, which he placed at the center of the table. The hook-nosed man touched his wand to his temple, and began extracting memory strands. One by one the thick gauzy ribbons dropped them into the Pensieve, where they roiled and bubbled like a stormy sea. Strife, undoubtedly—and for that the werewolf and the Animagus braced themselves.

* * *

Sunlight played across the sleeping visage of Sirius Black. He swiped at it reflexively and turned over. That was the only complaint he had about this otherwise paradisaical vacation. No matter where this fancy Muggle vessel made port, the sun always fell on him too early for his tastes. Then again, so far every day had more than made up for the importune wakeup call. Better to rise now and see what new delightful adventure the Joneses had decided he and Moony should participate in today.

Sirius turned again, opening his eyes groggily. He jumped free of his bedsheets as he realized he wasn't aboard any luxurious Muggle ship. This was the same room he had lived in during the year the Joneses sheltered him, before his name was cleared. His eyes flicked toward the bedside table. The empty vial lying there made everything click back into place.

_Oh, Merlin! I'll have to thank Snape for that Sleeping Draught. Not to mention everything else. Who would have thought that old Snivellus—no, no, Snape, __**Snape**__! I swore to Harry I'd stop that. Nothing else will do after what I saw yesterday. He may have been... what he was back then, but he's since done more for Harry than that blasted old manipulative geezer. Hell, he's done what __Albus __**should have done and then some**__, after James and Lily died for our Harry. Oh bloody hell, Harry, I should've been there for you! No, stop that, Sirius, remember what the Joneses taught you. The past is gone; you can only change what is yet to come. Oh damn it!_

The physical backlash made Sirius double over. His stomach seemed determined to tear itself from the inside out. Sirius dashed to the bathroom with one hand clutching his midsection and another over his mouth. Five agonizing minutes later, the Animagus had another reason to be eternally grateful to the man he had tormented mercilessly while both were teenagers. Between the previous day's light fare and the vial of Calming Draught he found waiting beside the sink, Sirius merely had to ride out the waves of nausea for a couple of minutes.

Suddenly, he felt a comforting hand at his back.

"Better, Padfoot?"

Sirius looked up at his concerned best friend. "Yes, thanks, Moony. Have you been up long?"

"Not that long. If it's any consolation, I too sat in the same spot, waiting for that Calming Draught to kick in."

"He's changed so drastically. I never, in a million years, would have expected Snape to do all he's done."

Remus smiled wryly. "Padfoot, you always overreacted where Severus was concerned. We _all_ did. We never looked past the surface or gave him a chance. We judged him and condemned him from day one. But that's all in the distant past, Padfoot. Come on, he's made breakfast already, and it smells delicious."

The three wizards ate their breakfast leisurely, the air between them peaceful in comparison with last evening. There were still things to be said, and Sirius felt he had to say most of them, but he was thankful for the crushing weight lifted from his shoulders. When they were finished, the Animagus cleared his throat. For the first time since the Joneses had... _persuaded_ him to be civil, he met Snape's beetle-black eyes directly.

"I never liked you, Snape."

Remus growled in warning, but Sirius waved his protest away.

"In fact, I despised you with a vengeance from the very moment I first saw you." He smiled wanly. "It wasn't anything _you_ did or said. You just reminded me too much of my family."

"Obviously you never met mine." interjected Snape, again without bite.

Sirius nodded. "Then my godson—_James_'s son—trusted you with his life, and you didn't disappoint. Hell, I could _not_ have done better, even if I had _thought_ before haring off after Peter. You kept Harry safe from Albus's bloody stupid schemes. _You risked your_ _job_ to destroy the slime who sold his own best friends, helped make Harry an orphan, _and_ sent me to Azkaban in his place. You offered Remus your hand in friendship and helped him with his illness.

"And last year, you... you were as good a _father_ to Harry as Irwin... as James, during the single year he had with him."

At that, Sirius's voice broke, but he forced himself to plow on.

"When the Joneses took me in, they... berated me at length for my... crimes against you. Not a day passed without one or the other taking the slightest opportunity—the smallest careless comment I made—to pound it into my head that I... had terribly wronged an honorable man and that I absolutely, inescapably, must make amends.

"Back then I agreed meekly on the outside, but on the inside I still... judged you wrongly. Right now I look at myself with... disgust... that I could be so blind, so stupid, so... everything you've ever called me, Snape. The Joneses were _right_, and I can only say that I swear, from now on, to make it up to you. Ask of me anything, anything at all: it's done."

Sirius's hands began waving wildly. His tone was pleading.

"Scrubbing your Potions lab with my bare fingers, even wearing that bloody harness and muzzle of Diane's for no other reason than your amusement! I mean it, Snape. Absolutely whatever you come up with. I owe you my life and everything I hold dear, and... and it's yours."

Snape held his old enemy's gaze for a long moment. At last he chuckled. "I could not ask you to scrub my lab, Black. I would lose the perfect chore for detentions." He scratched his chin, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "The harness and leash, however, has... potential. Lady Tomoe could use the extra pillow."

At the sound of her name, the python roused from her place on the chair beside Snape's. Remus burst out laughing as the serpent looped around his best friend's torso, laid her head comfortably on his shoulder, and crooned her approval.

Sirius went beet red, but soon joined in the mirth.

"As you wish, Miss Python. After all, you were in it with the Joneses—_Diane_ in particular! That exasperating, wonderful woman got it into her head to make us family, and damn Merlin if she didn't go at it like a model _Slytherin_." He grinned toothily at Snape. "It's _her_ fault Harry got into your House and bloody tore it down and rebuilt it, you know."

Sirius paused for a moment to wipe his brow. When he met Snape's eyes, his face was sober.

"If there's something I'd rather not be there for, it's a face-off between Diane and Irwin Jones and Vol... _the Dark Lord_."

"Or Albus, for that matter." quipped Snape.

Remus burst out laughing again, elated and relieved that the terrible feud was finally over.

* * *

Sirius's house was located at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. House was something of a misnomer. It was an impressively large and forbidding manor, the sort every family of the rancid, pure-blooded aristocracy counted proudly among its possessions. Thanks to countless enchantments—most, if not all, Dark and therefore proscribed since its construction—the ancient residence was both structurally sound and magically impregnable. Every non-perishable object within it lay exactly where it was left fifteen years before. The only evidence of time's passage was the accumulated dust, filth and magical vermin characteristic of such neglected abodes.

Once the protections layered upon the manor recognized Sirius as rightful owner, Snape insisted on preceding the other two wizards. Despite the truce, Sirius's first instinct was to balk. Remembering himself, the last male Black motioned for the Potions Master to go ahead. It turned out to be a very wise decision.

The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black was notorious for its practice of the Dark Arts—and for ostracizing all members who eschewed that tradition. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place had no choice but to accept Sirius and his guests, but that in no way implied it would do so gracefully. Snape led the way into a veritable magical minefield. The efficiency with which the Potions Master dispatched and disabled the curses launched at him left Sirius and Remus gaping. Both Marauders had received Auror training. As a werewolf, moreover, Remus had become intimately familiar with the ways witches and wizards could visit death and torment upon their chosen enemies. Still they were astounded by what their dour companion must have been through, that he could master and break such evil so inhumanly fast.

"It would go even faster if I had help." Snape's drawl shook the two out of their daze. They hastened to join the fray.

It took them until well into the evening just to make sure the house would not murder them in their sleep. After finishing for the day, Snape extracted the makings of a hearty supper from a basket he had charmed to carry much more than its apparent volume—a certain python included.

"Lady Tomoe's lair is separate from the area designed for human foodstuffs." drawled the Potions Master silkily while he once again demonstrated his culinary proficiency.

Sirius and Remus looked at each other, the same thought going through their minds.

_All that we were missing because of that __**stupid**__ feud!

* * *

_The task grew less intense with each passing day. Sirius shuddered to think what would have happened to anyone less proficient than the three of them at Defense Against the Dark Arts. Then he wondered what to do with so much space.

His soft sigh made Remus look up from his copy of the Daily Prophet. Snape didn't move, but they knew he was listening.

"I don't know where to start." began Sirius. "I'd like this to be a sanctuary—for _whoever_ needs it badly during the upcoming war."

Snape met Sirius's eyes levelly. "Let us cast the Fidelius at once—with yourself as Secret Keeper. That way, only you may choose whom to welcome."

They cast the protective charm before engaging in the final phase of the cleanup. As they swept each room painstakingly for any cursed objects left, a strange scraping and squeaking noise interrupted them. At once they headed toward the corner where the sound seemed to be originating.

Tomoe lay curled upon herself as tightly as she possibly could. A rippling motion down her length was causing her scales to rub against floor and wall. Snape's eyebrows rose questioningly. The python continued shivering—as if she was freezing.

Snape's eyes widened in realization. "_Snakes like it warm_." he whispered.

"What was that, Severus?"

"Lady Tomoe feels very uncomfortable, Lupin." Once again he quoted Harry. "_Contrary to popular belief, dark and dank caves are not ideal serpent habitats. They are tropical creatures_."

Sirius burst in giggles. "Never, in my wildest dreams, had I imagined _you_ quoting a _Potter_, Snape!"

Snape smirked. "I fear I must disappoint you, Black. I was quoting a _Jones_."

Tomoe's intense fondness for warm and airy spaces enabled the three wizards to render each room not only habitable but soothing, welcoming and downright cozy. As Tomoe demonstrated extensively after they were done, any corner was perfect for a weary reptile's impromptu nap.

They had left the downstairs sitting room for last. It was the largest area besides the kitchen, and the place for entertaining guests. Consequently, it was littered with fancy shelves, cabinets, curios and mounted displays, all luridly appropriate for boasting Black heirlooms and treasures.

The three wizards had been careful to keep their voices down in the lower level of the manor. Presiding over this area was the magical portrait of Walburga Black, last mistress of the manor and Sirius's mother. Walburga had been thoroughly unpleasant in life—death, if anything, had only exacerbated her strident bitterness. Snape reinforced the Silencing Charm on the portrait's curtains; nonetheless, it was most prudent to avoid rousing her. Until now, the three wizards had managed fine.

The final day of their task was upon them, however, and Sirius could not restrain his joy while disabling the last batch of cursed objects. When he saw they had but a single one left, the last male Black let out a loud whoop.

"FILTH! BLOOD-TRAITORS AND MUDBLOODS IN MY HOUSE! BEGONE YOU FOUL CREATURES! TAKE YOUR FILTHINESS OUT OF MY PRESENCE!"

Before any of the wizards could react, a loud hissing brought the screeching to a halt. All three heads snapped in the direction of the sound. An irate Tomoe was engrossed in a vicious spat with... a _locket_?

Snape reached the python first, his face betraying horror as he beheld the animated serpents tooled in gold upon the locket. A column of vapor rose from the heirloom—an eerie sight Snape remembered clearly from three years before.

"MILADY! AWAY, NOW!"

The eldritch piece of jewelry resisted every spell the three wizards cast at it—even the Darkest curses the Potions Master knew had no effect. It finally quieted down on its own. Though it appeared inactive, none could pry it open. Finally the three wizards and the python stood staring warily at what could only be another Horcrux. A sudden whisper made them jump.

"They bow to a serpent... Kreacher... you did not tell me..."

A resounding crack later, an old, withered House-elf stood before them. He began sobbing and wailing hysterically, and continued his caterwauling as he prostrated himself, bashing his arms, legs and head incessantly against the floor.

Sirius finally got a grip on his own confusion. "KREACHER! STOP IT!"

The House-elf almost broke his spine in half, so quickly he raised the upper half of his body to look at Sirius.

"Kreacher is sorry, Master Sirius! Kreacher is being bad elf! Kreacher is not telling Mistress about Mistress Snake! Kreacher is being afraid!"

Snape turned to Sirius. "Ask him what is it he fears."

Sirius complied, adding a command for the elf to speak slowly and as calmly as possible.

"Kreacher is being afraid yous is coming from the Dark Lord. Kreacher is not telling Mistress yous obeys snake. Kreacher is fearing yous is come to destroy Mistress and Kreacher."

"We do not follow the Dark Lord, Kreacher," stated Snape emphatically. "Nor do we intend to destroy your mistress. We do, however, intend to destroy this locket. What can you tell us about it?"

Kreacher's eyes widened, and he began a fresh bout of screaming and sobbing. Sirius again stopped him and relayed Snape's question.

The bullfrog voice trembled as the elf struggled to obey his master.

"The locket is belonging to Master Regulus. The Dark Lord is asking for House-elf, and Master Regulus is sending Kreacher. Master tell Kreacher to return to Master after. The Dark Lord is taking Kreacher to evil place... a cursed seaside cave, with lake inside. The Dark Lord is taking Kreacher to island at center of lake... ordering Kreacher to drink terrible potion. It making Kreacher see horrible things! It making Kreacher more and more thirsty! Kreacher is having to drink from lake... and evil things is coming out of the water and pulling Kreacher in!

"But Master Regulus is saying to come back, so Kreacher come back... and Master Regulus is telling Kreacher to take Master to evil place... Kreacher is not wanting to but Kreacher cannot disobey Master! Master is telling Kreacher... to give Master... evil potion... oh poor, poor Master! Master is taking locket... it being under potion... Master is putting other locket in... and Master tell Kreacher... to leave Master there!

"Kreacher is saying no but Kreacher is having to obey Master! Master is saying, Kreacher go to Mistress... no tell Mistress anything... Master says Kreacher is to destroy locket... Kreacher come back... Kreacher say nothing to Mistress... poor Mistress is dying of sadness... but Kreacher cannot destroy locket... Kreacher is trying everything but Kreacher cannot destroy locket!"

For a long while the only sounds in the sitting room were Kreacher's sobs and the wizards' hitched breathing.

"Kreacher." The elf turned at once to the last male Black. "Kreacher, you... have done well. You are a great elf. _Regulus_ would be very proud of you. _I _am very proud of you.

"We," Sirius pointed to himself, Remus and Snape, "are going to destroy this locket, Kreacher, just like Regulus wanted. And we are going to destroy the Dark Lord. We are going to avenge Regulus. Do you understand me, Kreacher?"

Kreacher looked at Sirius as if the wizard had grown two more heads. When he snapped out of his trance, the beleaguered elf's mood shifted suddenly and extremely.

"Yes, Masters! Kreacher is being very grateful to Masters! Kreacher will serve Masters well!

With those words, Kreacher Disapparated. When the elf returned, he was barely recognizable. He was clean now, his tufts of hair and his towel tunic sparkling white and fresh-smelling. Another mouth-watering aroma was wafting in from the kitchen. The elf bowed deeply at the waist.

"Kreacher is making lunch for Masters. Kreacher is sorry that Masters had to do Kreacher's work."

After lunch, the three wizards thanked Kreacher profusely. They set out to plan their next move.

"Regulus realized the Dark Lord made more than one Horcrux." stated Snape. "We must take the locket to Lord Brehas."

"Albus will know the second we enter Hogwarts." said Lupin.

Sirius looked up excitedly. "Not if Kreacher takes us directly to the Chamber!"

The elf appeared at his Master's elbow as soon as he heard his name. "Kreacher is taking Masters to Hogwarts. Kreacher is seeing locket destroyed."

An hour later, the locket Horcrux shared its diary counterpart's fate. Brehas was delighted to vanquish another fragment of his former Abomination master. Kreacher forgot Brehas was a basilisk and hugged the serpent's nearest coil.

"Kreacher is very grateful to Master Snake!"

Sirius put a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter. He decided to stroll around, admiring the basilisk's habitat.

"Quite a peachy hideout you have here. No wonder Harry likes it so much."

"He also enjoys the solitude." mused Remus. The werewolf looked thoughtfully at Snape. "Just like you, Severus. I'm glad you both can escape for a while. Especially with Albus being such a..."

"Prick." finished Sirius. "I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around that. For so long I worshiped the ground that old bastard walked on. Now I find out he's no better than Vol... the Dark Lord, I mean."

"Stop twisting your tongue over the name, Black. Call him what you will." Snape's voice was edged with pain and bitterness. "You have no need to grovel before the monster."

Remus walked up to Snape and gingerly laid a hand on a black-clad shoulder.

"Soon enough you won't need to either, Severus. We'll see to that."

Snape snorted. "I should have known you would seize the chance for sentimentality, Lupin."

Remus smiled. "You're welcome, Severus."

Snape changed the subject briskly. "We should return, Lupin, Black. Albus will be upon us soon enough."

Grimacing, the three wizards bid farewell to the basilisk, waited for Tomoe to wrap around their shoulders, and clasped Kreacher's hands.

* * *

Once again the Potions Master was right on target. Two days after the locket's destruction, a Patronus-borne message from Albus Dumbledore informed them of the reactivation of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore created the Order during the first war against Voldemort, as as rival organization to the Death Eaters. The members of the Order were considered paladins of justice—sworn enemies of everything Tom Riddle stood for. But this hallowed group had contained Peter Pettigrew. Its members also neglected Slytherin House abjectly, neither attempting to sway the undecided, nor sheltering those marked for death by Voldemort for refusing him. In fact, its sole member from the House of Serpents was Severus Snape.

Dumbledore's message also inquired whether Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place could become the Order's headquarters. Sirius would have sent a rather venomous response.

"Don't, Black." admonished Snape. "In fact, you should accept."

The Potions Master waved away Sirius's burgeoning explosion.

"Listen and think first, Black! What could we possibly achieve by confronting Albus alone? Who would trust the word of an ex-convict, a werewolf and a former Death Eater?"

Sirius and Remus blanched. The werewolf recovered first.

"What do you have in mind, Severus?"

Snape's expression became feral.

"Let the Order gather here. Remember you hold the Fidelius, Black. Once Albus exposes himself—and he will, as soon as he attacks Jones—we simply recast it to banish him. We need not move a muscle."

The Potions Master chuckled sardonically. "All you must do to restrain yourself, Black, is to picture Molly Weasley's response to the argument that we must kill a child in the name of the greater good."

It took Remus and Sirius the better part of an hour to regain control after that image.

* * *

Arthur Weasley would later insist that he should have seen it coming. His wife would soothingly point out that the whole Ministry was so dazed by Harry's actions during the Triwizard Tournament that it could not be helped. Still Arthur rued the day he lowered his guard with Walden Macnair.

It was common gossip that Macnair had been a loyal Death Eater, forsaking his Dark Lord only when Riddle's obsession with the Potters took precedence over subjugating Wizarding Britain. Macnair was a bloodthirsty sadist—it was the reason Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures had taken him back after the war without a second glance. No one else relished the dirtiest of that Department's tasks like Macnair. The man positively glowed when his task list for the day included as many executions of hapless non-humans and part-humans as his superiors could pile on it. Since he was never dispatched alone, many of his coworkers had witnessed his gruesome habit of licking his ax-blade clean after each slaying.

Sometime after Barty Crouch Jr. was exposed, however, Macnair started changing drastically. He requested that his duties include more clerical tasks and less field assignments. He exchanged his usual hangman's trappings for plain robes. He no longer vituperated magical creatures and half-breeds under his breath. He would join other employees for lunch, and display acceptable manners at each exchange. Very slowly, he courted the favor of those he had driven away, terrified and disgusted, for so long. One day Macnair claimed the chair directly across from Arthur Weasley in the lunchroom.

"How ya doin' Weasley?" he growled softly, in an obvious effort to be polite. Arthur was wary.

"Just what are you playing at, Macnair? This is not like you."

"Bloke c'n change 'is mind, can'e?"

"Yes, but yours has been on the same track for too long to change so fast."

"Ya wound me, Weasley. 'Sides, times are a-changin' fast. E'en I 'ave ta catch up."

"Oh?"

"Tha' Potter boy made a good point wi' all tha' caterwaulin', if ya know wha' I mean."

That gave Arthur pause. Harry's display at the First Task had made Arthur feel guilty for _weeks_, on account of his usual treatment of his attic troll and garden gnomes. How would Macnair have felt, with his enormous list of crimes? Even if his sentiments were not honest, it would behoove him to clean up his record—backlash or not, Harry had made people _think_. Arthur could see the Magical Creatures laws being changed within the decade. _He_ had been thinking of making suggestions to his colleagues in that area _himself_. Not to mention Percy's reports that other Wizarding communities were hinting that Britain was long overdue for a paradigm shift on magical creature rights. Besides, Arthur Weasley was an optimist.

"You're right, Macnair." said Arthur finally, offering his hand.

He was nonetheless unnerved by Macnair's answering grin.

* * *

A week after the Order of the Phoenix began meeting regularly at Grimmauld Place, Snape's Dark Mark burnt painfully. Donning the Death Eater regalia he had not worn in fifteen years, the Potions Master answered the Dark Lord's summons. He was not the only one.

Not a single one had doubted their old master's return. Riddle had boasted of his experiments in search of immortality far too often for it to be mere bluffing. Leaving behind family and post, all clad in identical black robes and silver masks, the Death Eaters stood subserviently in their assigned places in a half-circle. There were empty spots—the deceased or imprisoned. Everyone still alive and free was present—even those who planned on just pretending.

The number of the latter increased drastically by the end of that grisly gathering.

The Death Eaters were familiar with their whereabouts. This cemetery was one of their lord's favorite haunts; the place where new members were initiated and the launching platform for most raids against mudbloods and blood-traitors. Tonight a large cauldron, still smoking, sat to one side. Bound upon a nearby tomb hung the mutilated remains of what may have been a young man. He was undoubtedly dead—Walden Macnair would not be licking his ax-blade enthusiastically otherwise. Despite the impulse to swivel their heads in search of the Dark Lord, they moved not an inch. They did not have to wait long.

Tom Riddle had once been handsome, dashing even. Now there was nothing left of that former glory. Before them stood a gaunt specter, bone-thin under sickly pale, hairless skin. His limbs were elongated and spider-like. His face was grotesque, lacking nose or lips to shield the orifices for breathing and speaking. His eyes were crimson; the pupils, slitted. The resurrected Lord Voldemort addressed his court in an eerie and chilling drawl.

"Isn't this a pleasant surprise? Welcome, my slippery friends. I had heard most... disquieting rumors about you... about your families... about the House of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin. I am pleased to see that information was... inaccurate."

Riddle turned menacingly to where Bertha Jorkins stood like a mannequin, waiting for further orders.

"Bertha, my dear... I am most disappointed in you. LET YOUR FATE BE A WARNING TO ANY WHO DARE DISOBEY ME!"

The alien sound of Parseltongue pierced the oppressive silence. Not even Macnair could suppress a flinch as Nagini shot forward, lower jaw unhinged. The serpent began to swallow the hapless Bertha Jorkins head first. A second before the witch's neck snapped, Voldemort released the Imperius. None present would forget that bloodcurdling scream for a long time.

"Now that has been dealt with, let me share with you my ordeal during the past fifteen years..."

Riddle launched into an extensive oration on his life as a bodiless specter. Behind his ironclad Occlumantic shields, Snape vented his frustration.

_As if it were not obvious, what you have been up to, my lord. So little you value your own soul. I do not want to be in your skin when the Veil closes over you—neither can I wait until it does. How many Horcruxes did you make, you disfigured bastard? How much longer before you become no more than a bad memory?_

Riddle finished by describing the ritual he had performed minutes before summoning all who bore the Dark Mark. Bone of his father, easily snatched from the tomb he stood in front of. Flesh of his servant, kindly provided by Walden Macnair—here Riddle paused to conjure a new extremity for Macnair, wrought of silver and equipped with enough curses to make strangling easier.

_Blood of his enemy—but who exactly was the owner of that mangled piece of carrion? A young boy, fifteen perhaps, relative of no one present... surely his blood has some significance? He was set on obtaining Jones for this, to annul the power of Lily's sacrifice... could it be?

* * *

_"Dudley Dursley." Sirius Black recognized the young thug who had tormented him on the sidewalk of Privet Drive.

"Petunia Dursley's son. _Lily_'s nephew." clarified Snape.

For a moment no one spoke. Then a sequence of loud gasps filled the air, as one by one the members of the Order of the Phoenix realized as the significance of the victim's identity. Albus Dumbledore's eyes held no twinkle. His features showed grim determination as he ordered Snape to retrieve his memories from the Pensieve. Snape could tell he was getting ready to broach the subject of his plans for Harry Potter Jones. But the headmaster seemed to change tracks mid-thought. He met the eyes of those Aurors in the Order.

"Alastor, Kingsley, Nymphadora? Make haste, please. We will wait for you."

Number Four, Privet Drive was no more. The sickly glow of the Dark Mark bathed the charred and disfigured remains of the Dursley adults, grotesquely posed amid the smoking ruin of their home.

Mad-Eye Moody shook his head. "Nothing to be done here but cleanup."

"What about Harry? Doesn't he live somewhere on this same street?"

"That he does, Tonks—four houses ahead. Number Nine. Come with me. Kingsley?"

The tall black Auror nodded. "You go on ahead. I'll report this to the Ministry. Meet you back here in twenty."

Mad-Eye and Tonks walked over to Number Nine, bracing themselves for the worst. Instead they beheld a mystery.

* * *

"Intact, Albus. Not a roof shingle out of place. The other was a ruin. I don't understand."

That was Dumbledore's cue. The headmaster drew a deep breath.

"I have long suspected, Alastor... ever since young Harry came to Hogwarts." Dumbledore paused dramatically. "I fear that the conclusions I have come to are most disturbing, to say the least.

Molly Weasley chose that moment to interrupt, driven by her chief concern.

"Albus? Is Harry safe there anymore?"

"For the moment he is, Molly. I am afraid, however, that his adoptive parents are in grave danger. As are we."

Molly paled. "What do you mean, Albus?"

"Ah, Molly, I wish there were an easy way to say this. Since there is not, I will be blunt. Harry... will soon become Voldemort's mindless slave."

Sirius shot up from his seat, growling. "How dare you slander my godson, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore's eyes were glacial. "_Sit down, Sirius_! It is most unfortunate, but true. You see, Harry was supposed to grow up under the protection of his mother's loving sacrifice—contained in the blood of Lily's remaining relatives. Unfortunately, a Muggle couple's misguided charity prevented Harry's aunt from taking him into her house. The magic I invoked was never activated.

"I did not realize this terrible error until Harry's eleventh birthday. I went to Privet Drive, expecting to meet Harry at his aunt's house. Instead, I found him four doors further. Healthy enough, yes, a strapping young man. The son of Lily and James, but with a different surname. I allowed myself to hope.

"As soon as I crossed the property boundary, however, I felt the probing of an alien magic. A force cold, distrusting, hostile... Dark.

"Despite my misgivings, I did not act then. I waited to see what exactly had become of James and Lily's baby boy. Alas, mere minutes after he stepped into the Great Hall, I knew... The poor thing was already doomed.

"He was already fluent in Parseltongue. A second after his Sorting he struck friendships—enduring friendships, as we have seen—with the less... wholesome members of Slytherin House."

At this, Snape shot to his feet, incensed. "Headmaster!"

Dumbledore waved a hand. "Oh, do not be riled, Severus. You know I am, sadly, correct. You have been exceptionally trustworthy as Head of Slytherin, Severus, but even so, the children there have been exposed to Dark influence since infancy. It... comes with their names, so to speak.

"I will not tolerate..." began Snape in a cold roar.

"_You will listen, Severus_! You know my reasons. Harry is defenseless against Tom!"

"Occlumency can..."

"Occlumency will only help temporarily! Tom will bend his entire—and rather considerable—Legilimantic powers toward the link between his and Harry's mind. He will attempt to lure Harry into bringing him the Prophecy. The boy has no chance. Not when he is already contaminated by the Darkness Tom left within him when he burnt that scar upon his forehead.

"We must brace ourselves for a dire task, my friends. Before Voldemort possesses him fully, Harry... must be destroyed."

Before any of that horrified, trembling audience could marshal enough wits or ire to react, furious hissing and spitting rent the thick silence. Tomoe launched herself onto the table, rearing until she met Dumbledore's gaze levelly.

"_You shall die before you lay a hand on my hatchling, you rotten egg of an Elder!_"

A blink later, the python was wrapped around the headmaster's torso. Her rippling coils were aiming to strangle. Alastor Moody leveled his wand at the python, out of reflex, but Remus blocked the old Auror. Sirius also stood, locking eyes with the struggling Dumbledore.

"I never thought—not even during my worst, Dementor-induced nightmares—that the man I came to love like a second father could fall _so low_. Albus _bloody_ Dumbledore. Headmaster of Hogwarts, Head of the Order of the Phoenix, greatest wizard alive—a _bloody coward_. A child-killer. NOT... MUCH... DIFFERENT... FROM... VOLDEMORT!"

Each word brought the Animagus closer, until the only thing separating the irate Sirius from his former mentor was Tomoe.

"You know, Albus, I always wondered why you didn't expel me that time I almost got _Severus_ here _murdered_. Ever since Azkaban, I've also wondered why you were so quick to believe I could sell James and Lily to Voldemort.

"You like your little toy soldiers _tame_, DON'T YOU, ALBUS? It was OK to torment little Dark Slytherins, as long as I kept my true _breeding_ on a short leash, WASN'T IT? You were happy to count me among your pet Gryffindors, but in the back of your great bloody mind, I was still a scion of the Ancient and Most Noble House of BLACK!

"And _Severus_ here—he was nothing until he swore fealty to you, WASN'T HE? Until he groveled at your feet and accepted your abuse, if only you would help his one friend since childhood. You got your tame Death Eater, and you could always hold the threat of Azkaban over his head if he didn't TOE THE LINE!

"And Remus—your pet werewolf, indebted to you for just about _everything_ under the _bloody_ sun. Another snack to throw Voldemort while you sit in your high chair, plotting. Because that's all you do these days, ISN'T IT? YOU... KNEW... VOLDEMORT... WAS... STILL... ALIVE! I BET YOU ALSO KNEW HOW EXACTLY HE MANAGED THAT! But you were waiting for your child _savior_ to grow up and DO YOUR WORK FOR YOU, WEREN'T YOU? THAT'S WHY YOU'RE SO AFRAID NOW, ISN'T IT?

"My GODSON came into his own power away from YOU. My GODSON is his own man now, not yours, AND YOU JUST CAN'T HAVE THAT, NOW CAN YOU?

"I'm sorry the Dursleys died like that, but I'm NOT sorry Harry grew up far from them. WANT TO KNOW WHY? BECAUSE THEY WERE _ABUSIVE_! THEY WOULD HAVE _HURT_ MY GODSON! JUST LIKE YOU'VE TRIED TO DO FOR THE PAST _FOUR_ YEARS!

"Tell me something, Albus—did Grindelwald take your _spine_ before you took his _wand_?"

* * *

A round of slow, amused applause met Sirius's tirade.

"_Bravissimo_! I must commend your eloquence, _Sirius_."

Snape's smirk made him look exactly like his Patronus. The Potions Master sauntered over to his employer, enjoying the aged wizard's struggles to breathe as Tomoe's coils tightened inexorably. He stood beside the Animagus and spoke to Tomoe.

"Milady, I do think the Headmaster understood your message perfectly. Please, allow him to breathe—he is after all, an old man."

Tomoe released Dumbledore slowly, taking care to squeeze forcefully with every coil as she removed it. Snape took a vial from his robes and dropped the contents down his employer's spasming gullet. He motioned for Sirius to draw back. When the headmaster no longer gulped for air like a stranded fish, Snape spoke.

"It pains me to have to concur with Black." the Potions Master drawled, quirking his lips at Sirius. "However, he happens to have expressed my _exact_ sentiments. I too held you in far greater esteem than you have proved yourself worthy of, Albus. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, you remain my _superior_. From this day on, however, you are no longer my _commander_. My oath to you is null. Were she with us tonight, _Lily would have_ _killed you where you stand_.

"Oh and, Albus? Touch a _single hair_ on Mr. Jones's head, and Lady Tomoe shall be the _least_ of your worries."

Dumbledore quaked in his boots. He had expected strong reactions from Sirius and Snape, though he had forgotten the python. He did _not_ expect the score of disapproving glares and scowls directed at him from all those in the room—even Mad-Eye had broken off his standout with Remus and sat down, head shaking as if that could change what he was seeing and hearing. Arthur Weasley's face was bathed in tears, and beside him...

"HOW DARE YOU ALBUS!"

If Sirius had roared, Molly Weasley now screeched louder than Walburga Black's portrait before Kreacher's revelations.

"I HAVE NEVER, IN MY LIFE, FELT SO _ASHAMED_! YOU SAID HARRY WOULD BE _FINE_! WE WANTED TO TAKE HIM IN AND YOU SAID HE WOULD BE FINE WITH THOSE _PEOPLE_! WHAT WERE YOU _THINKING_, SENDING HIM TO BE _ABUSED_!

"AND THIS _NONSENSE_ ABOUT HIM TURNING DARK... HOW DARE YOU! AFTER ALL HE HAS _DONE_! HE'S BROUGHT _PEACE_ TO HOGWARTS, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE! HE DESERVES AN _AWARD_ AND INSTEAD... _YOU WANT TO KILL HIM_?

"I AM _DONE_ WITH YOU, ALBUS!"

The Weasley matriarch deftly turned toward Sirius and Snape on the next breath as if nothing untoward had happened.

"Sirius, Severus, my dears... anything I can do to help, you let me know, all right?"

Molly hugged the two men, waved her farewell at those still sitting, and left. Arthur and the older Weasley children followed. That began a massive exodus. The Order members of Dumbledore's own generation rose next, disappointment and indignation written plainly on their faces. Mad-Eye and the other Aurors followed. Last of all came Mundungus Fletcher—he may own the loosest morals of the Order, but not even he could condone Harry's murder.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts was left alone. Dejected, he wondered how it could have gone so badly, with his reasoning so sound. He buried his face in his hands.

_The boy is a Horcrux! Ah, if only I could say it in so many words! We're lost if we keep him close... we might as well induct Tom into the Order! What am I going to do to salvage this... I cannot face Tom alone... no one can, without destroying his Horcruxes first..._

Dumbledore slapped his forehead.

_Of course! I was merely too hasty. Once the other Horcruxes are vanquished, not even Sirius will be able to remain blind to the terrible truth._

Dumbledore opened his weary eyes.

_ Ah well, now all I have to do is apologize..._

"Save your breath, Albus. No amount of insincere apologizing can undo the horror you have wrought."

The Headmaster of Hogwarts had forgotten to reinforce his mental barriers. To his growing dismay, he realized Snape was not the only one who had noticed.

"Get out, Albus. You are no longer welcome here."

Sirius did not raise his voice this time. There was no need. The murderous rage in his canine eyes sufficed to drive Albus Dumbledore from Grimmauld Place with his proverbial tail between his legs.

* * *

Tom Riddle was jubilant at the news of his enemy's predicament.

"The old fool!" he cackled. "He _really_ expected the Wizengamot to approve of him revealing my return?"

"Indeed, my lord. He has not been himself since his own Order overthrew him. He forgot how complacent the Ministry has become... how little interest they have in abandoning their precious comfort zones. Soon they will kneel before you, my lord."

Riddle petted Nagini absently, imagining just such a scenario. Abruptly he looked piercingly at Snape.

"What of his wretched Order, Severus? Are they truly disbanded?"

"Regretfully, no, my lord. They have regrouped under Black and the werewolf. I have managed, however, to ease myself into their confidence."

"Excellent, Severus. What are their plans?"

"They will station operatives at the entrance to the Department of Mysteries nightly, my lord."

Riddle cackled once more. "Idiots! As if _that_ could deter my plans. Before the school year is over, Potter _himself_ will hand me that prophecy. See to it that no one hinders the boy when that time comes, Severus."

"Yes, my lord."

"Good, Severus. Now tell me, what _is_ the situation at the school?"

"The Ministry has effectively fenced Dumbledore in, my lord. The governors have obliged Fudge's request to station his own undersecretary among the faculty. Dolores Umbridge is the new Defense teacher. Furthermore, she has been granted the power to monitor classes and evaluate teacher performance—_and_ appointed the final authority regarding disciplinary matters."

"How delightful! Dolores may not bear my Mark, but she is quite sympathetic to our... point of view."

"As befits a Slytherin, my lord."

"Yes! Speaking of which... you will ensure that the children remember their place, Severus. If not, their _whole_ families shall pay for their disloyalty!" The spider-like finger caressing Nagini joined its fellows in a gruesome claw.

"Yes, my lord. Slytherin House shall move as one."

Lord Voldemort took that statement at face value. He would later rue having done so.


	11. Only Lidless Eyes Are Clear

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter 11: Only Lidless Eyes Are Clear**

Severe shock makes intelligent people think. After the mighty tide of denial ebbs, comes the frantic grasping for the slightest inkling of a possible explanation. A sharp wit leaves no stone unturned, though it may tremble as it nears the boulders it has labeled as immovable. Gingerly it probes underneath the behemoths, timidly it peeks around them. The reward of such persistence is truth.

Albus Dumbledore possessed a gifted intellect. Until now, it had been clouded by that most pervasive of maladies: irrational fear. Finding himself a hostage in his own territory, however, had spurred him to introspection. It also opened him to suggestions, and his non-human companion, Fawkes, took full advantage. As soon as the beleaguered man raised focused eyes to his perch—something he had not done in years—the majestic bird had launched itself at one of the massive bookshelves lining the vast office, and swooped back bearing an old Muggle text in its talons. The phoenix deposited his burden in front of his human, and waited with meaningful stare until the man picked it up.

It was a battered edition of Diane Irwin's beloved Jungle Books.

Dumbledore gazed affectionately at Fawkes, but pushed the book aside.

"Fairy tales, Fawkes? Hmm, that might not be a bad idea. But I think I ought to reread Beedle—it is, after all where everything started for me."

The aged wizard Summoned his vintage edition of Tales of Beedle the Bard, but as he thumbed through to his intended story, a golden talon swept the text off the desk, and a gleaming beak pushed the Muggle book forward. Dumbledore looked up into the glinting eyes of his flaming familiar, who began mantling furiously. The Headmaster of Hogwarts capitulated. It was his wisest decision since the day he set out to confront Gellert Grindelwald.

* * *

Severus Snape wiped his creased brow impatiently, desperately wishing to be back in his potions lab. The Potions Master currently stood in the foyer of Malfoy Manor, preparing to give a speech. Snape was an expert at speeches, particularly intimidating ones where he laid down the law and intimated unspeakable punishment to whoever defied him. Tonight was different. The Malfoys were hosting a gathering of those Death Eaters who were... less than pleased with their lord's strategies of late. The offspring of these men and women would be spending the night at Malfoy Manor. Before they repaired to bed, they would receive an orientation, ostensibly as to their expected behavior while at Hogwarts. In reality, their Head of House would insist on the stark opposite, while appearing to fulfill the Dark Lord's command. The young Slytherins, schooled in the arts of misdirection from a tender age, would read between the lines.

Snape's concern was for his own continued existence after the Dark Lord examined his acolytes' memories of tonight's events.

An urgent tugging at his robe hem snapped the Head of Slytherin out of his contemplations.

"Professor Snape, sir. All is being ready for yous, sir." whispered a quivering House-elf before promptly vanishing.

"Here goes nothing." muttered the dour man. He dearly wished Tomoe the rock python were there, coils comfortably hugging his shoulders. But Tomoe was safely ensconced in her custom-designed lairs at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was a necessary precaution, now that Dolores Umbridge had free reign at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The students quieted as soon as Snape stalked in, robes billowing. The adults glanced up, cold façades betraying none of the unease curdling their stomachs. They could all die slowly and painfully if Snape misstepped. After tonight there was no turning back.

"Slytherins."

All backs were stiffly at attention, all eyes riveted on the Potions Master. Snape racked his brains for something to say that did not entail rehashing the painfully obvious. He studied his charges. In perfect imitation of the actions of their Marked elders, all were present—those of... less than ideal background discreetly claimed by close friends. The beetle-black eyes paused on Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. The two portly youths were notorious for their paucity of cerebral activity, yet tonight their stares were anything but vacant. Swift anger coursed through the Potions Master's veins. These children of the Serpent were anything but stupid, appearances notwithstanding! The Sorting Hat had known as much, when it deemed them suitable for the Serpent's lair. Snape bared his yellowed and crooked teeth in a feral snarl.

"I will not waste my breath stating the obvious. Any of you not yet privy to the current state of affairs is a disgrace to Slytherin House." Not one student flinched at the savage pronouncement, and Snape allowed his features to relax into his more familiar scowl.

"We shall _all_ honor the glorious emblem of our House, or suffer the consequences. Serpents cast off the old skin, never to creep back into it. Serpents' eyes have no lids, therefore, only they can truly see clearly. Serpents bask momentarily in the sun, but hunt unerringly in the darkness. The hour of pride and power has come at last! Let all know by word and deed that we are loose till dawn! The House of Serpents moves as one!"

For an endless moment silence reigned. Draco Malfoy was the first to shake his astonishment, rise as majestically as he knew how... and start clapping vigorously. A minute later all the others followed suit, until the deafening ovation thundered through every crevice of the Malfoys' domain.

Snape did not allow himself an explosive sigh of relief until he was safely beyond the heavily warded door of his dungeon chambers at Hogwarts. Though tempted to indulge in heavy drinking, he refrained until he had minutely examined every angle of his performance. Satisfied that he had a convincing explanation for his every turn of phrase, he sought the comfort of Ogden's finest.

A tempest of owls pelted select Wizarding and Muggle residences that night. The missives were curt, bearing at most a handful of lines. The painstakingly chosen words carried both dread warning and solemn promise. Every single one contained the same postscript.

_The House of Serpents moves as one_.

* * *

The next day dawned hot and clear. Snape cursed the sunlight and wished he truly slept in a coffin, as some of the more colorful insults on his person implied. The Potions Master had a beastly hangover, had not bothered to brew a Sobriety Draught, and would much rather roar a Killing Curse than a Summoning Charm...

_As soon as I procure my effing wand, which should be right under the bloody pillow! And who the bloody hell dares to Floo me at such an ungodly hour_?

"Severus Snape! Respond at once, young man, this is no social call! Pomona, Filius and I must speak to you urgently! We have scant hours until Dolores arrives."

_Ah. The unmistakable brogue of Minerva McGonagall_.

The Head of Gryffindor had a point—the Heads of House would have no chance to delineate strategy with Snape's intolerable old Housemate snooping around. Marshalling his every ounce of discipline, Snape ignored his pounding temples and set briskly about his morning ablutions. Once more in control of his faculties, the Head of Slytherin proceeded to mollify his Gryffindor counterpart with an account of the previous night's events.

"If it is any consolation, Severus, He Who Must Not Be Named likely does not have an ear for poetry."

"Minerva! This is no laughing matter! If the Dark Lord takes exception to my words, he will kill me... exquisitely slowly, I might add!"

"I only meant that he will probably take them at face value, Severus. You _did_ report he has long made a habit of doing so."

"Be that as it may, Minerva, the Dark Lord is quite perceptive."

"He is also a narcissist, convinced that the world either fits his view or ceases to exist. Does he not believe his mastery over serpents to be absolute?"

"That he does. He expects Lord Brehas and Lady Tomoe to bow to his wishes as soon as they hear him hiss." Snape looked piercingly at his colleague. "To them the Dark Lord is Abomination, marked for death on sight."

"Well, then, Severus. May we join you for breakfast?"

"You may, Minerva."

The four Heads of House broke their fast in companionable silence. As soon as the dishes were cleared, however, the mood of the gathering shifted abruptly.

"We cannot stand by while the children's education suffers." huffed Minerva. "Especially in such a crucial subject as Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Snape eyed the Head of Gryffindor sardonically. "Are you suggesting I take Dolores's place?" He drawled. "Use Polyjuice perhaps? While one of you takes my place in Potions and the others rotate accordingly?"

The women blushed furiously, but Filius Flitwick laughed as he shook his head.

"The thought _did_ cross our minds, Severus. However, none of us can ever hope to match _your_ Potions brilliance. What we propose is that the four of us tutor the children... clandestinely, of course."

Snape's brows climbed toward his hairline. "That is surprisingly Slytherin of you, Filius."

The diminutive wizard smiled. "Why thank you, Severus! Does that mean we can count you in?"

Snape nodded, smirking. "Of course." He turned to Minerva. "How shall we justify our activities?"

The Deputy Headmistress grinned slightly. "Students can always benefit from supplementary instruction in the core subjects. This year we have a particularly large class entering OWL year. It would only be fair to extend the option to everyone else."

"What of Albus?" inquired the Head of Slytherin.

Minerva snorted. "He is in no position to interfere."

Snape laughed. "Very well. Shall we design a schedule?"

Pomona Sprout, hitherto silent, spoke up. "First we need a safe location, Severus. We were thinking of the Guardian's Chamber?"

Snape shook his head. "While Lord Brehas would welcome us, it would be terribly disrespectful to unleash hordes of unruly children on his domain. The other inhabitants of the premises would object also, unsettling the whole habitat greatly."

Sprout's expression grew dejected. "You're right, Severus, please forgive me."

Snape waved away the apology. "Don't trouble yourself, Pomona. I may have the perfect solution."

Flitwick looked up excitedly. "Pray tell then, Severus! Or better yet, guide us thither!"

Snape's lips curved in amusement. "Of course, Filius. If you would follow me, please."

* * *

The Head of Slytherin led his three colleagues to the third floor of the castle. He paused by a distasteful statue and marched back and forth three times in front of a garish tapestry. A doorway materialized before them. Snape pushed it open to reveal a vast, cavernous chamber shrouded in twilight. Ponderous cathedral ceilings presided over a staggering repository of objects in various stages of disrepair: veritable mountains of them, accumulated over the centuries since the founding of the school.

"Minerva, Pomona, Filius, welcome to the Room of Hidden Things."

"Hogwarts's own rubbish heap!" exclaimed the Head of Hufflepuff. "I _had_ wondered where it all went."

"Very practical." drawled Minerva. "Any suggestions on how to best handle this mess?"

"Hmm. Fire would be the quickest option, wouldn't you say, Severus?" inquired Flitwick.

"My thoughts exactly, Filius. Shall we proceed, then?"

The Professors raised their wands as one. "_INCENDIO_!"

Two hours later, the centuries of refuse had been obliterated. What the fire wouldn't consume, the Professors blasted and Vanished. Finally, a single, stubborn object remained.

"Merlin, it won't budge! Unbreakable Charms, do you suppose?" Sprout glared at an old, battered tiara.

Her other three colleagues converged on the spot, taking turns applying their strongest spells at the ancient headdress.

"I apologize for the Dark origin of some of the spells I shall try." said the Head of Slytherin as he went forward.

"No matter, Severus." said Flitwick soothingly. "Your intent is anything but evil."

As he struck again and again with no result, the Potions Master was reminded of a similar incident at Black Manor. The sudden insight made him stagger back.

"Severus? Are you OK?"

"Yes, thank you, Pomona. It is only that I have remembered a crucial piece of information."

"What would that be, Severus?" inquired Minerva.

Snape looked at each of his colleagues searchingly. Satisfied by what he found, he conjured chairs for all of them.

"Besides assisting the Joneses, I had occasion to participate in another household project this past summer: Black Manor."

Pomona chuckled. "Why, Severus! I never knew you were also a Master of _Domestic_ Arts."

Snape's lips quirked. "I am glad you find my pastime amusing, Pomona." The Head of Slytherin's expression turned grim. "I regret that my findings shall be much less so."

The other three professors sobered immediately.

"You see, as we were finishing our renovation of the premises, Black, Lupin and I encountered a similarly problematic object..."

Once the harrowing narrative was over, the Heads of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff stared at the battered diadem with undisguised horror and disgust.

"You mean this... _thing_ actually contains..."

"A fragment of the Dark Lord's soul. Yes, Minerva, it does."

"It must be taken to the Guardian, at once." stated Flitwick.

"Indeed, Filius." agreed Snape.

Pomona stood, arms akimbo, a bothered expression on her features. "Well? What in Merlin's name are we waiting for?"

* * *

Myrtle Johnson had not moaned earnestly in three years. She remained a sentinel in the bathroom where she died, but nowadays she mostly spent her time in the Guardian's Chamber. After Brehas apologized profusely for having slain her over half a century earlier, the mercurial ghost no longer feared the basilisk. This morning she was fluttering around the hidden portal when the four Heads of House marched in as if into a battlefield.

"Miss Johnson, would you be so kind as to summon Lord Brehas? We have urgent business to discuss." declared the Head of Gryffindor.

The ghost took one look at the drawn faces and flitted away to follow the order. So intent was she in her errand that she crashed into another of her kind. When she righted herself, she realized the other specter was her superior, the Bloody Baron.

"S-Sir B-Baron, p-p-please... f-f-forgive m-me..."

The scraping of the basilisk's coils upon the grass brought Myrtle's awkward stammering to a halt.

"Lord Brehas! Professors Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout need to see you!"

The giant serpent nodded, head sideways as he ever carried it to prevent accidents, and glided upwards toward the entrance. The ghosts followed, and when the Bloody Baron beheld the object Snape gingerly carried, he broke his accustomed silence with a gasp.

"The lost diadem! Lady Ravenclaw must see this!"

Snape, McGonagall and Sprout looked at their diminutive colleague questioningly. Flitwick shrugged.

"I know as much as you do, my friends..." His eyes widened. "Unless he means... no... it couldn't be..."

"What is it, Filius?" prompted Minerva.

Filius turned to Snape. "Severus, does this diadem have writing on it?"

The Potions Master turned the headdress around and looked closely.

"It does, Filius. _Wit beyond measure_..."

"_Is man's greatest treasure_." interjected a melancholy voice. All heads turned toward the entrance to the bathroom. There, between Myrtle and the Bloody Baron, stood the Grey Lady, resident ghost of Ravenclaw Tower.

"Yes. That is the diadem my mother Rowena wrought, and imbued with the gift of her intellect. I stole it out of greed. When it did not work for me, I fled far away with it. I concealed it within a tree, deep in the forests of Bulgaria."

Filius approached the ghost of his House. "But milady, all these centuries... so many great things could have been accomplished, for the benefit of all!"

"I know, Professor! None regrets my egoism more than I."

"Yet you saw fit to reveal the secret to the Dark Lord." shot Snape.

The ghost's cheeks glittered with embarrassment. "He was young and handsome when he was here. So enamored of knowledge too. He sought me for conversation, never demanded anything from me... I could not help confiding in him... I am so sorry."

"Well, the past is gone, lady." sentenced Minerva. "Now, however, this precious heirloom must be destroyed. That... _young and handsome_ man tainted it irrevocably with his Darkness."

Brehas obliged, promptly reducing the legendary diadem to a smoldering wreck. Basilisk, humans and ghosts stood silently for several minutes, mourning the loss of Rowena Ravenclaw's magnum opus.

* * *

Evening surprised Albus Dumbledore still in the Head Office, poring over the reading Fawkes had assigned him. The wizard was feeling every single one of his many years.

"Greater irony I have yet to experience, Fawkes." the headmaster mused forlornly. "Gellert and I followed a fairy tale and doomed the Wizarding world. Harry and his foster family are following a different one... and doing a far better job.

"For so long I have insisted that love is the greatest magic of all... it could well be that the Joneses' love has contained the soul fragment's influence. Oh, Fawkes, I played right into Tom's hands, by letting fear blind me!"

The phoenix trilled and cooed soothingly, nuzzling his obstinate human. Dumbledore sighed.

"I most definitely deserve to see my village crumble around me. All this time I have only hindered an already titanic quest, making things worse at every turn. Tell me, Fawkes... do you think this old buffoon of a village priest has a chance to undo his evil?"

To the old man's vast relief, the phoenix nodded.

* * *

The Headmaster of Hogwarts entered the Great Hall still deep in thought and grim of visage. Word had already reached him and the rest of the faculty about the tense situation among the students. Indeed, as he surveyed the gathering before him, Dumbledore could see the upper years trudge in with heads and shoulders stiffly held, bitter scowls marring their faces. Houses Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff took their places oblivious to the banners above them. The members of Slytherin House, in stark opposition, fell in together at their corner, all looking every inch the grim soldiers, battle-ready.

A pair of hooded eyes swept over the Great Hall with thinly veiled excitement. Dolores Umbridge fully sympathized with Lord Voldemort, not that she would ever admit it openly. Instead, the toad-like witch decided to regularly comment on the situation at Hogwarts in the presence of certain folk at the Ministry, like Walden Macnair, for example. Dolores already had a job lined up for Walden: a school was no place for a basilisk. The filthy monster should be executed posthaste, before any more susceptible young minds were contaminated with that egregious nonsense that _animals_ could possibly have _rights_. It was all that impudent Potter boy's fault.

_By the way, where __**is**__ that disgusting son of a mudblood_?

That same question—though in much less offensive terms—was making its rounds through the minds of everyone in the Great Hall, including the apprehensive first years waiting to be Sorted. Harry Potter Jones was nowhere to be seen. He had not been aboard the Hogwarts Express that morning, nor was he conveyed by any other means of transport to the school. Not even Professor Snape, Remus Lupin, or Sirius Black had heard from the Jones family as to their current situation.

The Sorting proceeded without complications, but Dolores Umbridge decided to interrupt the Headmaster's welcome message. Though her tone was deceptively sweet, her words carried a clear threat: she would make sure that Hogwarts toed the Ministry's line... or else.

After the Feast, the Head of Slytherin escorted his students to their Common Room, and took the chance to praise their performance.

"I am most pleased that you have all upheld the standards of our House."

Before the hook-nosed professor could turn to leave, Draco Malfoy detained him.

"Professor Snape, sir? Have you any news of Jones?"

Snape turned and regarded the expectant students searchingly. At length he shook his head. "I find myself in your same situation. I will inform you should that change."

Another youth, a seventh year, spoke up next. "Sir? What of our brood-mother?"

Snape's lips quirked at the appellation. "Lady Tomoe currently stays at a safe location. With the school under the... care of... unfortunately inclined authorities, it was judged best."

There were several relieved sighs at that. Draco raised his hand again.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Sir, I have been approached discreetly by...like-minded parties from a rival House. They propose a subtle campaign which would further our aims."

Snape was impressed, and did not conceal it. "Indeed, Mr. Malfoy? Would these _like-minded parties_ happen to possess an overabundance of red hues in their skin and hair coloration?"

Draco merely smirked.

Snape sighed. "Very well, you may proceed. I entreat you, however, to exert your superior cunning when carrying out your interventions."

This time _all_ the Slytherins smirked.

* * *

Lord Voldemort pierced Snape with his crimson eyes. The Potions Master had just offered Riddle his carefully edited memories of the past month and half since the term began. When the Dark Lord remained coldly silent, Snape began sweating profusely, hoping against hope that his final moments elapsed swiftly.

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed.

"Poetry, Severus? You plied our children with _poetry_?"

Snape bit back an explosive sigh. "I... could not think of anything else to... intimidate them properly, my lord."

Riddle sneered. "It served its purpose then. However, by their looks, they judged you insane. That is not a comfortable addition to your reputation."

Snape lowered his eyes meekly. "I only wished them shocked into unquestioning acceptance of your commands, my lord."

"That you achieved, which pleases me greatly, Severus."

Voldemort's ghastly features then shifted into an expression that contradicted his previous words. "But what is this about Potter? I need the boy for my plans!"

Snape groveled. "None have seen or heard from him or those filthy Muggles who shelter him, my lord."

"I thought you had gained their trust, Severus."

"I did, master! Even now, I am convinced I still have it! They simply have not seen fit to return to Britain. The Muggles threatened to do it before..."

Voldemort snarled, making Snape wince. When no curses came, the Potions Master risked a peek at the snake-like visage. "My lord?"

"Barty Crouch." snarled Riddle. "He will regret his incompetence. Lucius!"

The stately blond approached Riddle and genuflected. "Yes, my lord?"

"You shall lead the attack on Azkaban! Prepare to free our brothers and sisters... and to punish the unworthy. Dismissed, all of you." He turned to Snape.

"Severus, you will await our return _right_ here. It would not do for a certain Order to discover our purposes."

Snape shivered at the obvious threat.

_The more I please you, the less you trust me. Just as well, bloody Abomination. You will not see us coming. Ah, Jones, Jones, what are you and your so very Slytherin parents up to?

* * *

_Several disquieting events took place near the end of October and the beginning of November. One was the mass breakout from Azkaban ordered by Voldemort, which added a dozen fanatical soldiers to Riddle's forces, most notably one Bellatrix Lestrange. At Hogwarts, Dolores Umbridge skirted perilously close to a complete breakdown thanks to the insidious campaign against her edicts spearheaded by Fred and George Weasley. Their latest stunt rendered her unable to sack the Divination teacher. Somehow, the fiends had caused Dolores to start coughing explosively every time she tried to send Sybill Trelawney packing. Blinded by House prejudice, Umbridge never guessed at the Slytherins' complicity. The disagreeable witch could not think of anything besides constantly tightening red tape, until she was tripping herself with it at every other step.

Then the creatures of the Forbidden Forest denied admittance to humans, on pain of death.

"The centaurs have confirmed the ban, but would not say a word more." reported Dumbledore to the Heads of House, whom he had summoned urgently.

Snape's brow creased. "I must collect ingredients, Albus."

Dumbledore gazed piercingly at his Potions Master.

"I do not think the prohibition extends to you, Severus. You _do_ have Harry's blessing, after all."

Snape shook his head at the blatant probing. "I do not know where Mr. Jones is, Albus. No one does."

"I do not see what Mr. Jones's whereabouts have to do with the Forest situation, Albus." interjected Minerva.

Albus sighed, and retrieved a book from a drawer. Snape's eyes widened in recognition.

"I think the two are intimately related, Minerva. Are you, Filus and Pomona familiar with this Muggle classic? I see Severus is."

The Heads of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff examined the text one by one. Aware that the strange aside was the Headmaster's idea of a preamble, they decided to play along.

Minerva smiled. "Ah, but of course... A Muggle-born colleague recommended it during Animagus training." she said fondly.

"I came across it once," said Filius. "A most engaging anthology of prose and verse."

"I never heard of it. What is its significance, according to you, Albus?" inquired Sprout impatiently.

Dumbledore twinkled weakly. "Not according to me, Pomona. According to Harry and his family. I think Severus can explain much better than I."

All heads turned toward Snape, whose scowl had reached epic proportions. The Potions Master addressed Pomona.

"The protagonist of the stories and poems in this tome is an orphaned boy, rescued and raised by wild animals. The villain is a man-eating tiger, whose cruelty strikes terror and disgust among humans and non-humans alike. This deranged feline attacks the boy's parents in his quest to devour the child, effectively marking the boy as his own future slayer."

Pomona raised a hand to her mouth. "Dear Merlin! But that... that is..."

"A close facsimile of Mr. Jones's own life, yes. More so because Mrs. Jones treasures this book so much that she has followed it nearly to the letter while raising and educating her son."

Snape turned his baleful stare upon Dumbledore.

"Mrs. Jones _also_ read very closely the missive _you_ left with the boy when you _abandoned_ him on the late Dursleys' doorstep. She knew what her son would have to do, and endeavored to prepare him to the best of her abilities. Which is more than you have done, Albus. _So_... _much_... _more_."

Dumbledore hung his head. "You are correct, Severus... to my unending shame."

Minerva gasped. "At last you admit it, Albus?"

The headmaster's eyes were dim. "I do, Minerva. There is no point to remaining in denial, is there?"

An enthusiastic trilling drew all eyes to the perch on the corner. The phoenix, visibly elated, launched itself into the air and cartwheeled over the professors' heads.

Dumbledore smiled. "It was Fawkes who finally reached through my regrettably thick skull. He insisted I read this. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to see myself as a complete bumbling idiot—which is, I'm sure, what you have all been experiencing."

"That's putting it mildly." shot Snape. He cleared his throat. "In the interest of expediting this business, Albus, allow me to summarize."

At Dumbledore's nod, Snape addressed the other Heads of House.

"Our esteemed Headmaster has apparently regained his senses after perusing this essential text. He has made a connection between the current behavior of the Forbidden Forest's denizens and the talents exhibited by Mr. Jones in the course of last year's Tournament. He has concluded, perhaps correctly, that Mr. Jones currently resides in the Forest, and is marshaling its forces in preparation for an offensive against the Dark Lord.

"I sincerely hope the Headmaster has decided to either _cooperate_ or _refrain_ from _interfering_."

"Is Severus's hope the truth, old friend?" inquired Flitwick.

"Yes, Filius. Which is why I would like to communicate with Harry. I have information he needs."

"Such as?" drawled Snape.

Dumbledore sighed. "I have received word from Hagrid. His envoy to the giants was largely successful." The aged wizard chuckled. "He tells me it would have been even more so, had he just mentioned Harry's name and omitted mine."

Pomona grew agitated. "Albus, is Hagrid OK?"

"He insists he is, Pomona. According to his message, the giants allowed him to leave their domain relatively unscathed, after he relayed the tale of Harry's exploits. He should be arriving at the outskirts of the Forest within the week. I have reason to believe he is not alone."

"Giants in the Forbidden Forest? Albus, that is madness!" fumed Minerva.

Snape placed a soothing hand on his Gryffindor counterpart's shoulder. "Actually, Minerva, I think it will be fine. If Albus is correct, and Jones is in the Forest, the giants will be welcomed and accommodated after the ritual claim of kinship."

"You think you'd be able to make contact, Severus?" asked Dumbledore.

Snape smirked. "No. If Jones has gone to such pains to move incognito, I daresay he will rebuff even his Head of House. He will not, however, rebuff the Lady Tomoe. May I be excused? I wish to compose a thorough report before I send for milady."

"Of course. Severus?"

The Potions Master raised an eyebrow. Dumbledore gulped.

"Would you be so kind as to... convey my humblest, most heartfelt apologies to Harry?"

Snape regarded his employer loftily.

"I can only try, Headmaster."

* * *

Through a long corridor the large, hooded serpent ranged, the black marble uncomfortably cold against her belly. Nagini had surrendered most of her mind to a wreck of a human; as a result, she was lamer than he. At least the guttering torches did not disturb the shadows too much, bettering the odds for the outcome of this hunt. Out came the forked tongue: serpent and parasitic human could taste the lush, mouth-watering prey. Closer the cursed reptile crept... became lightning in her strike against the beckoning warmth... the pulsing blood... once, twice, and again...

"_At the hole where she went in..._"

The ominous whisper startled the serpent. Someone else was with her in that cold human cave. Another of her kind?

"_Who goes there?_"

There was no answer as the human she had brought down thrashed in agony. Nagini turned back to her prey, only to jump at the staccato rattling and ticking that began echoing through the empty hallway. Unnerved, the serpent unfurled her hood and whirled. But the insidious vibration was everywhere! And then...

_Pain._

Fur, fangs and claws charged the serpent, the unseen enemy spitting its challenge.

"_Red-Eyes calls to Wrinkle-Skin! Hear what little Red-Eyes says! Nagini, come up... and dance with death!_"

Nagini shivered at the sing-song taunting in her own tongue. All hatchlings of the Poison People learned the lore of their ancient enemies. There were Winged Ones with long, sharp beaks and talons, and there were these. Nimble, warm-blooded hunters covered in fur, with eyes that glowed red in the twilight as they mocked the Poison People. First they crept on their bellies, tails bottled. Then they rose upon their haunches, and began making that horrible noise, so hurtful to a snake's senses. Finally, they would strike, singing and dancing around their victim, until those sharp little fangs found that soft, vulnerable spot behind a serpent's neck.

Nagini fled.

Arthur Weasley was found in time. Somehow he came within reach of a magical portrait who sounded the alarm. After he was stabilized and regained consciousness, the Weasley patriarch insisted that a stranger had helped him. A young woman of exotic features and warm voice had soothed him with soft hands, eased his fever with a potion, and carried him to safety.

The Healers confirmed that Arthur had received emergency antivenin. However, it was Severus Snape who administered that first aid—and the general agreement was that no one in full possession of his or her faculties would ever confuse _Snape_ with an otherworldly nymph.

Thus it was concluded that Nagini's poison must surely include an immensely powerful hallucinogenic.

* * *

"Thank Merlin for small mercies!" exclaimed a jovial Pomona Sprout. She and her colleagues returned to Hogwarts the week prior to the end of Christmas vacation. The other Professors shared Pomona's joy: Dolores Umbridge would not make her appearance until the evening before the students came back.

"Indeed, Pomona. Let us make the most of our reprieve." encouraged Minerva McGonagall.

Individual duties fulfilled, the Heads of House met in Snape's quarters to prepare their schedule for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Their initiative had registered a spectacular success, with the most advanced students already confident with _m__ê__l__ée_ dueling.

"I think I can begin Animagus training with the NEWT-levels. We already cover the theory in regular classes."

"You should consider offering it to any who display the aptitude and commitment to discipline, Minerva." admonished Snape. "After all, non-humans will play a pivotal role in the coming hostilities."

"Great idea, Severus!" exclaimed Flitwick. "And, in keeping with the theme, I shall teach the Patronus Charm... basic and special uses both."

"Merlin, it figures! You three have all the fun!" complained Sprout. "It's all _I_ can do to keep the children from snoring!"

Snape chuckled. "I think I can aid you there, Pomona. It is time to address poisons in my section... I could definitely use your expertise."

Minerva snorted. "It's just as well, Pomona. Your mere presence will assuage the students' concerns about their personal survival."

* * *

After his colleagues had left, Snape allowed himself to relax. It was then that his roving obsidian orbs alighted on a neatly rolled parchment resting at the center of his desktop.

"Strange... I did not hear this come in." muttered the Potions Master to himself as he cast every detection spell he knew of at the parchment. Satisfied it would not harm him, the Head of Slytherin unfurled the letter and began to read.

"Dear Professor Snape,

"First of all, this letter is spelled so that only you, Moony and Padfoot can read it. You _will_ be able to speak of the contents to anyone you deem trustworthy, though."

Snape chuckled. "Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Jones."

"Thanks for sending Tomoe to the Forest; I missed her something terrible. She won't return to you for a while, for security reasons, as Dad would say.

"Speaking of Dad, he and Mum are safe and in good health. We all returned to Britain separately and secretly. _I_ don't know Mum and Dad's exact location; that's how good they are at this cloak and dagger business. They did tell me they evacuated Number Nine, Privet Drive, though it still seems to be occupied. I'm pretty sure they shipped off all the posh knickknacks and furniture and either go themselves or send someone once in a while to mow the lawn and such.

"Hagrid is here, safe and in one piece _now_ (some of the giants beat him up, the brutes). He did bring a bunch with him though, including his own half-brother _and_ the Gurg (chieftain) of the clans who'd rather not side with old snake-face. Hagrid won't be back to teach until Umbridge gets sacked—it's not like she would let him stay for long, and he's quite comfortable here. We fixed him and the other giants with some very cozy getups in the hills—nothing like what you and the other Professors did for Brehas, but nice all the same.

"Excellent, Jones." murmured Snape as he read that.

"Please let Professor Dumbledore know that I'm happy he's come around. Here's an idea if he really means it about cooperating: He can help the Order set up an ambush at the Ministry. Voldy is bound to lose it and go fetch the prophecy himself. He most definitely will not be expecting to face _the only wizard he ever feared_. If Professor Dumbledore is up to it, he can Polyjuice as me. Send me an owl if the Headmaster agrees; just don't try to follow, or you'll get pecked to bits."

"Another ten to Slytherin. Irwin's training shows." murmured Snape, thoroughly impressed.

"Please send my best wishes for a speedy recovery to Mr. Weasley. I witnessed the attack through the mind-link. Tommy's emotions went off the charts, so I could track the action even through my Occlumantic shields.

"I was also able to send help. I bet Mr. Weasley was told he hallucinated that part! Please tell him he's _not_ mental, _but _he can't tell anyone else! From what I was able to pick up, Nagini was so out of sorts she Occluded Tom at that point. The bastard doesn't know we have a snake hunter among us.

"This part is actually quite sad... it's hit Tomoe and the other serpents very badly. Merlin, I wish I didn't have to write it down! Here it goes:

"_Nagini is a Horcrux_.

"The poor beast will have to be put down. None will come to her aid, even if she speaks the words of kinship. Tom bloody Riddle had better get all his affairs in order before he comes visiting, the bloody bastard.

"Speaking of visiting bastards, the Ministry owled the centaurs. They're sending a detail from Disposal of Magical Creatures. Brehas already knows to meet them head on if they come knocking at the Chamber entrance.

"We know this is Umbridge's doing. She _really_ shouldn't invade us, or Brehas. If you can find it in your heart to try and dissuade her, _please_ do your best. Either way, be prepared to relive the Wormtail incident... with a vengeance, since she's been so awful to everyone. Makes me wonder if she bears the Dark Mark.

"Merlin, I'm sorry to part on such a gruesome note. Oh well, war does that. I'm sure you know that better than anyone.

"Sincerely, H.J.P. Jones"

Snape swallowed harshly. "Merlin and Salazar! A Horcrux from a living creature! Abomination indeed!"

* * *

An hour later, the resounding crack of Apparition shook the Potions Master from his stupor. Drawing his wand, he whirled onto the interloper. The House-elf flopped its bat-like ears and rushed toward Snape, prostrating himself before the irate wizard.

"Professor Snape, sir! Please forgive Dobby for interrupting Professor Snape sir, but Dobby's family is needing Professor Snape sir's help..."

"ENOUGH!" Dobby curled himself into a little ball. Snape sighed explosively.

"You should know better than to come in here unannounced, elf!" The beetle-black eyes narrowed. "You are a Malfoy elf, are you not? You ushered me in at the manor."

Dobby quivered. "Yes, Professor Snape."

"Speak your errand, then. Lucius does not make a habit of sending his elves to me."

"Master Lucius is not sending Dobby, Professor Snape, sir. Young Master Draco is being the one sending Dobby. Young Master Draco is in great danger... Mistress Bella is telling Master Lucius he is having to hurry bringing young Master Draco to He Who Must Not Be Named... Mistress Cissy is not sleeping or eating well and young Master Draco is being very worried, Professor Snape sir..."

The House-elf pitched forward and grabbed Snape's legs.

"Please Professor Snape, please be helping young Master Draco!"

"DOBBY!"

The House-elf froze, its saucer-like eyes fixed unblinkingly on the Potions Master.

"Thank you. Now, you say Bellatrix wants Draco Marked shortly."

"Yes, Professor Snape... It is being terrible thing!" wailed the disconsolate creature.

"Hush, Dobby!" chided Snape. "Thank you. Also, Narcissa is showing signs of emotional breakdown."

The House-elf nodded so vigorously that his ears flapped noisily against the floor. Snape began pacing.

"Lucius must also be at his limit, or he would have acted before. This is not like him." Snape paused abruptly. His fathomless orbs froze Dobby to the spot.

"Dobby? Is the Dark Lord in residence at Malfoy Manor?"

Dobby nodded so briskly he smashed his nose against the dungeon floor.

After containing the ensuing deluge of tears, the Head of Slytherin issued his orders to the House-elf.

"Please return to Draco with these phials. I have detailed Narcissa's treatment in the accompanying missive. Is that clear, Dobby?"

The House-elf nodded.

"Very well. Now, I have instructed Draco to ask Lucius to give you clothes." He forestalled any hysterics with a quick gesture. "It goes against the ways of your kind, yes, but it is imperative. We cannot risk the Dark Lord learning of this errand. Also, be assured the Dark Lord will not hesitate to use you your own Masters. Do you understand?"

Dobby's eyes reached record dimensions, and he went mute for a long moment. Snape felt a touch of alarm when the mercurial creature finally gave him a wobbly smile.

"It is being OK with Dobby, Professor Snape sir. Dobby is understanding he is needing clothes to be helping young Master Draco."

Snape sighed explosively. "Thank Merlin and Salazar! Now, please go, Dobby."

* * *

On the last day of the holiday, Snape found himself in the sitting room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Sirius had already finished reading Harry's letter, and Remus was almost done. The Animagus was pale.

"I don't know what scares me most: what Harry and his folks have been up to, or the bit about that snake."

"I personally find the notion of a living Horcrux most disgusting. As to the Joneses, I have no qualms that they know exactly what they are doing."

"That's easy for you to say, Snape. They're all a bunch of Slytherins."

Remus chuckled. "Severus does have a point, Padfoot. We can't expect any less from Irwin, Diane or Harry. They knew this was coming long ago, and have spent the last fifteen years preparing for it."

The werewolf cleared his throat. "Now, this plan for an ambush sounds workable. But how will we know when Voldemort will move? I thought he wasn't including you on operations like those anymore, Severus."

"He did not include me in the Azkaban plot, a test which I passed, Lupin. In fact, I shall suggest the move myself. The Dark Lord is miffed that Jones evaded him so neatly, yet he also has grown confident after Arthur's injury. If I confirm Jones's presence, he won't be able to resist."

"We need to talk to the old coot. How about a visit from the Order next weekend?"

"I think speaking to Albus can wait, Black. Though an Order meeting next week is advisable, to ensure everyone is on the same track."

"We'll do that, Severus." stated Remus, his amber eyes aglow with excitement. The Animagus nodded his own agreement, patently amused at his best friend's eagerness.

There came a lull in the conversation, and Snape looked at his former enemies searchingly.

"Out with it, Snape. What else is on your mind?" pressed Sirius.

Snape's lips quirked. "Your family, Black."

"What do you mean? I am the last of the Blacks."

Snape gave a faint version of his famous sneer. "You are the last to carry the surname, _not_ the last of the _bloodline_."

The Head of Slytherin then relayed Draco's plea.

Sirius Black said nothing for several minutes. Finally he shook his head.

"Well, I _did_ say I intended this place as a sanctuary for whoever had need." He shook his head. "It most certainly _never_ crossed my mind that the Malfoys, of all people, would need it." The Animagus slapped his thighs, resolutely. "Consider it done, Snape. They _are_ my family, after all." He frowned. "Although... you really think they will accept help from a blood traitor?"

Snape smirked. "They are in no position to complain, with the Dark Lord and Bellatrix under their roof."

Remus and Sirius both shivered at that thought. Remus cleared his throat. "Well, then. Severus, how do you want to do this?"

The Head of Slytherin pursed his lips. "I will approach Draco tomorrow evening. When term ends, he can come here directly. Narcissa will have to wait until the ambush at the Ministry."

"And Lucius?" asked the werewolf.

"That will depend on the outcome of the attack. I will try to suggest he allow himself to be captured."

"Won't Voldemort smell the trick?"

"The Dark Lord will have other concerns in his mind, Black. Also, as Lucius will probably be in command, it will be easy to focus on neutralizing him. The plan is ironclad...provided none of us bungles their part."

"Actually, the only one I'm afraid will bungle his part is Albus." declared Remus somberly.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was uncharacteristically subdued, with good reason.

"I did as you told me, sir. Mother is no longer crying all the time, and she sleeps through the night."

"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy. And the elf?"

"Dobby!"

At Draco's call, the House-elf appeared. The slight creature was covered in a strange mix of variously colored articles of clothing, including several pairs of mismatched socks. Draco blushed.

"Father only threw him one sock. He's found everything else on his own."

Snape chuckled. "Do not trouble yourself about Dobby's tastes, Mr. Malfoy." Snape turned to the elf, who had perked up at hearing his name.

"Dobby, I would like you to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore. I am certain he will not object to your joining the Hogwarts staff."

The two wizards did their best to tune out the resulting display of hysterics.

Once Dobby left Snape's quarters, the mood chilled rapidly.

"Sir? Where will Mother and I go?"

Snape frowned. "I notice you left Lucius out."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "It's not as if he can leave, sir. That's why I asked _you_ for help."

"Do I detect resentment, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco exploded. "Of course! Father _knew_ it would come to this! We should have gone into hiding long ago! But no, he has to kiss the Dark Lord's robes and give the bloody monster everything! Does that sound like a Slytherin, let alone a _Malfoy_?"

Snape shook his head. "No, it does not. Lucius too succumbed to the curse of peacetime. However, he is hardly the only one."

Draco nodded wearily. "Yeah. What next, though? Your letter didn't say."

Snape gazed levelly at the blond youth. "You are aware that Narcissa was born a Black."

The silver eyes showed confusion. "Yes... but what...?"

Snape silenced him with a chopping gesture.

"Listen and do not interrupt, Mr. Malfoy. You are also aware that Sirius Black is Mr. Jones's godfather. Based on both that and the blood relation, plus his Gryffindor sense of honor, Mr. Black will grant you and your parents sanctuary."

Snape paused until Draco's eyes widened. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, you heard correctly. Black shall welcome Lucius also."

Draco gulped. "That's... great, sir... but I'm not sure Mother... or Father..."

"The mighty Malfoys would scorn the hospitality of a blood traitor? In favor of remaining hostages of the Dark Lord? You would rather be martyred like certain foolish Gryffindors? Now _that_ is bringing shame to Slytherin House."

The barb was heartless, but it had the desired effect. Draco forsook his ingrained prejudice and pleaded with his Head of House to drag his mother to safety, bound and gagged if necessary.

Snape laughed heartily at the image of Narcissa Malfoy in such an undignified position.

"I certainly hope such extremes will not be required, Mr. Malfoy. The Order of the Phoenix will arrange Narcissa's rescue. As for Lucius, the Order will also make his capture a prime objective during their next clash with the Death Eaters."

Draco assumed his best aristocratic air. "That's perfect, sir. Please, do convey my immense and delightful gratitude to my cousin."

Snape's lips quirked. "I shall do that, Mr. Malfoy. In the meantime, I have news from your absent Housemate."

The blond's stiffness gave way to relief.

"You've heard from Jones? How is he? _Where_ is he?"

Snape chuckled. "You may spread the news that Mr. Jones is alive and well, Mr. Malfoy. His current base of operations lies somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. The Lady Tomoe has joined him there. Jones may be reached by owl. However, the birds are under strict instructions to treat any foolhardy souls who attempt to track them as particularly juicy worms."

Draco gulped. "That serious is it?"

Snape's eyes flashed. "Mr. Malfoy, has your own dire situation so exhausted your intellectual resources that you have forgotten the significance of Jones's _other_ surname?"

The blond looked ashen. "I... I'm s-sorry, s-sir." He sighed forlornly. "I _have_ been so scared for my own hide that I thought Jones was having the time of his life. No school, no OWLs, free to do what he wants..."

"Having no contact with his parents, living wild, preparing to do battle against the Dark Lord. Indeed, Mr. Malfoy, the _very_ definition of an _ideal_ holiday!"

Draco blinked furiously, to quell the threatening tears. Snape relented at the sight.

"My apologies, Mr. Malfoy, that was uncalled for. You should return to your Housemates. I trust you will advise your... business partners that this information must _not_, under any circumstances, be discussed within earshot of Professor Umbridge."

* * *

The standoff between Umbridge and the new generation of Marauders resumed promptly. The students assumed the nickname after Snape allowed the conspirators use of the Marauders' Map. With it they ran circles within circles around Umbridge, who finally convinced Cornelius Fudge to appoint her Headmistress. To Dolores's endless frustration, the magical guardians of the Head Office and adjunct quarters refused her entry. Dumbledore, already used to being a hostage at his own school, did not mind the additional isolation.

Umbridge's torment worsened as her attitude prevented her colleagues from feeling the slightest sympathy for her. Even Madam Pomfrey began referring Dolores to St. Mungo's in the aftermath of the students' increasingly vicious pranks.

Furious at her inability to control Hogwarts Castle, Umbridge set her sights on the Forbidden Forest. The last weekend before OWL exams, various Aurors and personnel from Disposal of Magical Creatures—including one leather-clad, ax-swinging Walden Macnair—arrived at the periphery of the Forest. Minutes before the foolhardy invasion, Snape decided to attempt reasoning with his former Housemate.

"Dolores, this is a monumental mistake. It would behoove you to desist."

The witch's eyes flashed. "You would protect those vermin? Has that brat's nonsense confounded even you?"

The Potions Master sneered. "On the contrary, Dolores. I would protect an old _Housemate_ from a painful demise." Snape indicated the Ministry employees. "Those poor imbeciles have no chance against those _vermin_, as you put it. You have no idea what you shall be facing."

"And you do, Snape?"

"As a matter of fact, yes! I am periodically granted limited amnesty in order to collect ingredients."

At her impatient huff, the Head of Slytherin seized Umbridge by her forearms. "_Listen to me, Dolores_! I hold a _ranking_ place in the Dark Lord's _Inner Circle_. I know firsthand what _he_ is capable of. And that Forest," he pointed, "contains power to match _his_!"

A glint of madness came to the toad-like witch's eyes. "Which is exactly why I will make _sure_ it is destroyed."

Her retreating back was the last anyone saw of a hale Dolores Umbridge. Fortunately, the Ministry operatives turned out to possess the common sense their leader lacked. As soon as they met the defenders' outer perimeter, they fled _en masse_. Even Walden Macnair, in a surprising display of foresight, did not set a foot further than Hagrid's hut.

Harry's threat became reality.

* * *

"_And the bitter creepers shall cover you all_." quoted Snape grimly. Rubeus Hagrid returned to Hogwarts a fortnight later, bearing the last of Umbridge's remains—the splinters of her wand, twined in the bloated tendrils of a Venomous Tentacula.

"Harry _is_ there, then." breathed the newly reinstated Dumbledore.

Snape looked intently at his employer. The Potions Master took a deep breath.

"I sent my report with Lady Tomoe before the Christmas holiday, as we discussed." he admitted.

"What did he reply?"

"He accepted your apologies, for one. He made sure Hagrid and his... clan were welcomed rather warmly. He also advised me of the possibility of Dolores's tragic end and encouraged me to make an attempt at persuasion."

"When can we expect him back? Will he sit his OWLs?"

Snape chuckled as he shook his head. "He can finish his education after the war, Albus. His priority is the Dark Lord's _extermination_." The beetle-black eyes speared the Headmaster. "Which the Order agrees with, by the way."

Dumbledore snapped to attention. "Is there aught I can do?"

Snape's lips quirked in satisfaction. "As a matter of fact, Albus, there _is_. The Order has a plan..."

* * *

Lord Voldemort considered Snape his most useful acolyte. He would never admit it, of course. Neither would he admit that his greatest concern was that Snape would turn his coat—or had already done so. So far, the tide of events had favored the Potions Master, and Riddle could see no reason to doubt the man's fealty.

"I pleaded with her not to go... the half-breeds had already promised her death—but she was resolute, my lord. She wished to prove herself worthy of bearing your Mark."

"Fools are not worthy of my Mark!" snarled Voldemort. "Have you any further news, Severus?"

Snape allowed himself to show glee. "Indeed, and most auspicious, my lord. The Potter brat has been found."

Voldemort's crimson orbs flashed. "Where is he?"

"Dumbledore is hiding him in his quarters, my lord. I suspect he has been there all this time."

"Interfering old fool! No matter! I shall blast the mind link open! When I am done, Potter will be mine, mind and soul! Lucius! Tonight we attack the Department of Mysteries. I want that prophecy! Severus, you will return to the old fool's side. Keep him from shielding the boy! Dismissed, all of you!"

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy had finished her potions regime. Her frayed nerves mended, she was now in full control of her faculties. As soon as Draco had owled her the news that he had negotiated help from Dumbledore's outfit, she had discreetly begun packing. It had been ridiculously easy, with her sister Bella writing her off as too frail to be of any consequence. According to Bella, that was what happened when you led the pampered life of a trophy wife. Cissy would never be a warrior. Her son Draco, now... that young man had _promise_.

Bella did not realize Cissy would rather die than see her only son groveling at the Dark Lord's feet, or worse, dead in the bastard's service. The haughty blonde Summoned her belongings as soon as her sister and husband, clad in Death Eater garb, Disapparated toward the Ministry of Magic.

"SERVANTS!" bellowed the proud woman next.

"Yes, Mistress." answered a chorus of voices ranging from soft chirps to booming croaks. A dozen House-elves bowed before her, incongruous noses touching the floor.

"Strip the manor bare! Leave not a single treasure or heirloom of the House of Malfoy here for my greedy sister to plunder. Take everything to the Malfoy vault at Gringotts. When you have finished this task, report at once to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Do not return to the manor until my husband or I summon you!"

"Yes, Mistress!"

While the House-elves melted into a whirl of industry, Narcissa began pacing impatiently. Moments later, the whoosh of the Floo connection brought her to a halt.

"Narcissa!" whispered Snape's voice. "Narcissa, where are you?"

The Lady Malfoy strode to the fireplace, baggage floating behind her. "Here, Severus. Is Draco with you?"

"He is at Hogwarts, and will join you after the Leaving Feast. Your servants?"

"Taken care of as per Draco's letter. Where are we headed?"

"Here."

Narcissa seized the floating piece of parchment.

"Black Manor can be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. That is my Aunt Walburga's home! However did the old man acquire it, Severus?"

"Dumbledore does not own it. Sirius Black does."

Narcissa's eyes first widened and then narrowed. "Sirius? That man...!"

Snape leveled his wand at the blonde. "Do not even _start_ with the blood treason nonsense, Narcissa! I gave Draco my word that I would drag you bound and gagged should it come to that. Do not force my hand!"

Unlike the late Dolores Umbridge, Narcissa Malfoy's survival instinct was fully functional. In less than a minute, both she and her luggage train had vanished into the green flames.

* * *

At the Hogwarts Head Office, Fawkes the phoenix flashed away, a parchment in his talons. The succinct message was addressed to Harry.

"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do solemnly swear a Wizard's Oath that I shall use the hairs provided by Harry James Potter Jones for the sole and exclusive purpose of reaching Tom Marvolo Riddle's presence undetected during the operative led by the Order of the Phoenix in the Hall of Prophecy, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic."

Fawkes returned with an equally curt acceptance note and five brunet hairs.

From his station high in the air above the Ministry, Tom Riddle cackled in glee. He was so elated with the image he had just snatched from Harry's mind—Harry on his knees, agreeing to fetch the prophecy in a toneless voice—that he neglected to probe any further.

The Death Eaters, led by Lucius and Bellatrix, ran into the Order of the Phoenix, which flanked Harry as he marched into the Hall of Prophecy. Each Death Eater targeted a particular Order member. As they crept toward their quarry, the last thing they expected was for the Order defenders to wheel around as a unit, raining hexes upon the Dark forces.

Harry left the fighting to the Order, and hurried toward the prophecy orb bearing his name and the Dark Lord's. The Order backed the Death Eaters into the Hall of Death, while Harry raced for the exit. The green-eyed brunet made it as far as the Atrium before a thin, eerie voice commanded him to stop.

"Excellent, my child." purred Voldemort. "Now, hand it here."

Harry moved forward as if in a daze, eyes staring vacantly. His arm rose as if a string directed it. Voldemort cackled in triumph as the gleaming orb neared his spidery outstretched hand... only to wail in impotent fury as the orb missed by a hairbreadth and fell to the marble floor, shattering in a million tiny shards.

"Noooooo!"

The distraught Dark Lord began feverishly casting Reconstitution Charms at the glittering fragments. He did not see the youth's features blur and melt, or his body grow thin and tall. The smooth skin of the youth became littered with wrinkles, his dark hair turned white and flowed down to beyond waist length. The black Hogwarts school robes became bright aubergine, embroidered with golden phoenix motifs.

"You should not have come here tonight, Tom."

Voldemort slithered upright in a smooth movement, wand tip glowing green.

"_Avada kedavra_!"

The curse only hit a stone pillar Summoned wordlessly by Dumbledore. The clash of titans was on.

"How did you do it, old man? Did you just kill your own little Golden Boy?" taunted Riddle. A flaming basilisk shot out of his wand of yew, intent on devouring his opponent.

"Ah, Tom. Ever so quick to assume yours is the only way." murmured Dumbledore sadly, as he conjured a sphere of flowing water to engulf the Dark Lord and his flaming apparition.

"Even now you will _still_ prattle on about _love_? How pathetic!" sneered Voldemort, before snarling another Killing Curse.

Dumbledore animated the statue of a wizard, which until then had adorned the Atrium fountain. The sentinel of stone took the curse meant for the Headmaster.

"I think not, Tom. Your ignorance, however, is another matter. Even now Harry lies under the protection of magic more ancient and powerful than any you or I could command. I have accepted it, Tom, and so should you."

Voldemort fired again. "You jest, old fool. The Potter boy is mine, and no containment spell of yours will keep him from taking his place at my feet!"

Another statue pounced in front of Dumbledore. "Harry _Jones_ is neither _yours_ nor _mine_, Tom! A brave Muggle woman, rendered barren by the loss of her own child, claimed the magic I invoked on Lily Potter's blood. Though she was not magical to begin with, it embraced her and her family, and mutated into a force beyond our comprehension. We cannot touch him."

"No!" Noxious, jaundiced clouds spewed inky black lightning at Voldemort's command. A shimmering, iridescent tornado swallowed the evil bolts from Dumbledore's end.

"Yes, Tom. You took the Dursley boy's blood in vain. Harry is pure of your taint. He controls the mind link, not you. The prophecy is no longer of any consequence. You have lost, Tom. In Merlin's name, yield!"

"Never, Dumbledore! You win this day, old fool, but mark my words. You will ALL die one by one... starting with that filthy Muggle who dared to deny me what is mine, MINE TO ME! _AVADA KEDAVRA_!"

The curse was carelessly aimed, and merely decimated the last of the fountain behind the Headmaster. The aged wizard Transfigured the jagged boulders of rubble into fine, glittering dust that piled harmlessly in a corner.

"There are worse fates than death, Tom." murmured Dumbledore, as the man he had once taught as a child named Tom Marvolo Riddle fled as a roiling cloud of putrid mist, insubstantial but deadly.


	12. The Council of All Kindreds

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter Twelve: The Council of All Kindreds**

They gathered all around a nondescript outcropping of stone, jutting from the middle of a sufficiently large, more or less circular clearing at the heart of the Forbidden Forest. Humans were granted safe passage under truce, and natural predators and prey set aside their ruling instincts to meet face to face and parley. Bane of the Centaurs was there, and the ailing Aragog of the Acromantulas, assisted by his eldest daughter and successor, Rasag. Murkus of the Mer-Folk floated in a glittering protective bubble next to Rubeus Hagrid and his full-sized half-brother, Grawp. Griphook and Gornuk of the Goblin Nation eyed the human contingent with thinly veiled distrust, while Kreacher of House Black and the Elves of House Malfoy waited demurely but excitedly a few paces behind their chosen human clans.

Cornelius Fudge was no longer Minister of Magic: the debacle at the Department of Mysteries had sealed his fate, and the very next day the pompous man was unceremoniously sacked by the Wizengamot. In his place stood Rufus Scrimgeour, the robust former Head of Magical Law Enforcement. _That_ post had gone to Scrimgeour's deputy, Kingsley Shacklebolt, who towered from the new Minister's right side. Scrimgeour's left flank was covered by Madam Amelia Bones, new Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Albus Dumbledore had not fared well after the battle at the Ministry either; like Fudge, he too was summarily dismissed from all his leadership posts, including that of Headmaster of Hogwarts. Minerva McGonagall had assumed that mantle, and she too stood among the human contingent, flanked by her colleagues and the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Among these, Remus Lupin drew the most attention: he was robed in what was unmistakably an animal's pelt. This was the peace offering of the werewolves; as proof of their severance of all ties with Voldemort, the lycanthropes had turned on one of their pack mates: Fenrir Greyback, hater of humans and Death Eater wannabe. Like prey he had been brought down at the last full moon, and his hide torn from his flesh; the rather gruesome garment was sent to Lupin in time for the Council.

Facing the Order members, Headmaster Igor Karkaroff of Durmstrang Academy struggled not to fidget: he came not as representative of his school but as spokesmen for those Death Eaters who had turned from Voldemort, sick of the madness and the danger to their families. Behind Karkaroff formed that funereal company, clad in their thick black cloaks and lurid pale masks, their wands floating at arm's length, horizontally, harmlessly: to parlay they were required not to dissemble. With them stood their families, those not Marked with heads uncovered: the youngest attendants to the gathering could be discerned there, the young scions of that rancid aristocracy. Seeking their own comfort, they had clustered around Draco Malfoy, who did his best to inspire a security he did not, could not feel, with all their shameful secrets bared so brutally to such an unlikely and fearsome company. In a gesture which did not go unnoticed, the younger Weasley children broke ranks and marched across the clearing to stand with their beleaguered schoolmates. The move triggered a minor stampede, as the flushed adults hastened to echo their charges. It was the signal the other kindreds were waiting for: as soon as all humans stood together, a piercing trill called the Council to attention.

All eyes sought the source of the melodious call, and they spied it upon the highest branch of the tallest tree nearby. Fawkes the phoenix descended like a comet and came to a rest upon the large boulder at the center of the clearing, the Council Rock. The flaming bird trilled again, and a rumbling as of an earthquake answered. Indeed the soil quivered under feet and other appendages, making the motley company struggle to keep their balance. More than one breath hitched when the reason for the commotion became clear: Brehas of the Serpents, Guardian of Hogwarts, had left his lair at the phoenix's summons, and his ponderous bulk now slithered toward the place of meeting. The general restiveness was quelled as soon as the great serpent's head cleared the trees: the fatal orbs, averted so the basilisk's neck was vulnerably exposed, was the ultimate olive branch.

Brehas coiled himself at a prudent distance, in deference to his ancient enemies. Another reptile, however, continued until its glistening coils were loped around the Council Rock, and the triangular head rested beside Fawkes's talons. Tomoe the rock python hissed a respectful greeting, and Fawkes trilled an equally warm response, before both joined in yet another summons. This time it was human feet who marched forth, a company of four: Irwin Jones, impressive and fearsome in his battle dress uniform, Muggle weaponry strapped sheathed all about his person; Diane Jones, equally attired but shimmering in and out of view as the Cloak of Invisibility billowed in the evening breeze; another human female, young and supple, exotic features framed by thick, inky black braids, clad in a Healer's emerald robes; and last but not least, the wizard all other humans had been dying for a glimpse of, for the past year and some months.

* * *

Harry Potter Jones was easily recognizable, despite having enjoyed the growth spurt of late adolescence and the benefit of intense physical effort. His dark hair still flowed every which way, though tamer now that it cascaded down his back, contained only by a thin braid running the length of his forehead and coming to rest upon his right shoulder, a gleaming raptor's quill tied at its tip. His emerald orbs were as they all remembered, but its depths now hinted at greater inner strength and wisdom, born of self-knowledge and acceptance. Harry had eschewed the garments of a Muggle soldier, but not the weaponry: knife sheaths adorned his arms, legs and torso, and a bow and quiver were slung across his back. As he entered the clearing, he held his wand non-threateningly at arm's length. He came to a stop in front of Fawkes and Tomoe, cleared his throat, and addressed the unlikely assembly.

"Welcome and well met, Peoples of Forest and Mountain, of Air and Flame and the Aquatic and Subterranean Realms, and of my own, Human kin. We are all of one blood, here and now, and long may our association last, for the benefit of all."

In unison all species answered, each in its own voice, and the ensuing cacophony brought itself to a halt as its meaning dawned on all participants. Never before, in the memories of all but the longest lived, had such an enterprise coalesced into reality. Fawkes broke the sudden thrall with another trill.

"Yes, yes, Fawkes, I know." Harry smiled wryly. "My feathered brother reminds me we have limited time, and requests we set aside protocol in favor of expediency. Any objections?"

Murmurs swirled around the clearing, rapid exchanges that slowly melted into general agreement. After each spokes-being noted its approval, Harry continued.

"Very well. Our first order of business comes from my human brethren. I understand Chief Warlock Bones of the Wizengamot has crucial intelligence to share with us. Madam Bones?"

Amelia Bones strode grim-faced toward the Council Rock. At her signal, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody also approached. Moody whipped an Invisibility Cloak off a fourth figure with a moue of distaste.

"Here he is, Chief Warlock. The traitor to his own." growled the fearsome, battle-scarred Auror.

* * *

The unveiled witness was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Held by magic-dampening chains, the aged wizard seemed to have collapsed on himself. His eyes were dim with grief, his once proud demeanor now broken by shame. Dumbledore sported a black eye, injury which Madam Bones swiftly questioned..

"Why has he not been Healed, Aurors?"

It was Sirius who answered.

"He was, Madam Bones. I fixed that."

"Mr. Black, this is a peaceful gathering! We've all come here under truce!"

"I didn't do it _here_, Madam." The Animagus turned to the assembly. "This man is a traitor, and worse than a traitor. Not long ago, he wanted his own Order of the Phoenix to _murder_ Harry Jones. He believed my godson to be under the influence of Voldemort, and as such, no longer useful to his grand plan!"

Sirius continued after the chorus of gasps subsided.

"After we sacked him, he seemed to come to his senses. Then, at the Department of Mysteries, after Harry and the rest of us provided him with a clear shot, _he let Voldemort go_!"

The Animagus whirled on Albus, seizing his former mentor by the collar.

"Care to tell us _why_, Albus? _Why _didn't you come when that bastard cursed Emmeline Vance behind her back, after _she_ saved _me_ from Bellatrix Lestrange? _Why_ didn't you blast him into oblivion when you had him in front of you? _Why_ did you betray us, Albus, _why_?"

"Mr. Black, that is enough!" roared Madam Bones. Sirius forced himself to unhand Albus. The Chief Warlock threw Dumbledore a disgusted glare.

"Mr. Black's questions, however, are legitimate. Thus, you will now submit to examination under Veritaserum. Auror Tonks, if you please."

Albus Dumbledore's confession was illuminating, to say the least. Out poured the entire sordid tale of the aged wizard's association with Tom Marvolo Riddle: Dumbledore had been the one to fetch eleven year old Riddle from a dilapidated orphanage, the one to discover an adolescent Riddle's fascination with the Dark Arts, to suspect his hand in the murder of an innocent Muggle-born schoolmate. Dumbledore had tracked Riddle's quest for power and immortality, uncovered the details of his crimes and kept them quiet. When Riddle emerged as Lord Voldemort, Dumbledore went as far as to welcome him at Hogwarts, albeit for a short visit. Then had come the prophecy and the Potters' tragedy, and Dumbledore's decision to send Harry where he would grow up unloved and therefore pliant to Dumbledore's needs and expectations, ready to be molded into the perfect weapon to bring down the very evil the aged wizard had allowed to flourish.

The entire Council was enthusiastically demanding Dumbledore's hide by the time his despicable narration came to a close.

"WE ALL AGREE HIS LIFE IS FORFEIT, BUT WE MUST KNOW MORE OF THESE HORCRUXES!" thundered Madam Bones at last. She looked meaningfully at Dumbledore once the uproar subsided.

"I have told you all, Madam." The old wizard shook his head mournfully. "Except Horace... he did not give me a true memory."

"Horace Slughorn, the Potions Master?"

At Dumbledore's nod, Madam Bones gave Kingsley Shacklebolt a curt nod.

"I request permission from this Council for these Aurors to arrest one Horace Slughorn and bring him here."

After another moment of noisy conference, the centaur Bane answered.

"You have leave, but make it quick, humans."

* * *

Less than fifteen minutes later, a cowering Horace Slughorn struggled against his magical bonds next to Dumbledore. A minute later, he too succumbed to the pull of Veritaserum, and yielded the final piece of the Horcrux puzzle.

"Seven? He split his soul seven times? Merlin!" whispered a decidedly green-looking Mad-Eye Moody, giving voice to the general sentiment.

This time it was Severus Snape who ended the morbid reverie.

"If I may, I think it is time to ascertain the status of the seven vessels." Snape waited for signs of approval before counting off his fingers. "The diary was destroyed four years ago. The Order of the Phoenix has since brought Slytherin's Locket and Ravenclaw's Diadem to Lord Brehas, who destroyed them immediately."

The basilisk nodded. "_It is so._"

"I understand the serpent, Nagini, has been sentenced to death by her own kin?" inquired Snape at Harry, who was translating the serpent tongue.

Brehas nodded again. "_The Slayer shall hunt her down, and none shall answer her ritual cry of kinship._"

The young woman in Healer robes stepped forward from her place beside Diane Jones. Once all eyes were on her she seemed to shimmer, and in her place stood a sleek but sturdy mongoose. She clicked her claws and teeth as she reared upon lithe hind legs.

"_At the hole where she went in, I shall hunt down Wrinkle-Skin! Woe betide the one called Nagini!_"

The girl returned to human form, and facing each envoy to the gathering, bowed. "Do I have the favor of this Council?"

The response, again in a myriad voices, was unanimously in the affirmative.

Harry stepped forward then, casually draping an arm around the svelte Animagus's shoulders, a gesture of endearment not lost on the human contingent. The young Healer brushed a kiss against Harry's cheek before returning to her spot, garnering more raised eyebrows. Harry cleared his throat, emphatically waving aside the distraction.

* * *

"It is well met, my friends." declared Harry. "Only three pieces of the Abomination to destroy. I believe my godfather, Sirius Black of the Order of the Phoenix, can help us there. Sirius?"

The Animagus strode forward, his wand raised as if guiding something. Sirius canceled a Disillusion Charm to reveal Lucius Malfoy, whole but immobilized, floating in midair.

"_Finite Incantatem._" cast Sirius, and moved aside.

Lucius came to with a start, and made to bolt when he saw his wife and son throw themselves at him.

"Cissy? Draco? What is this? Where?"

"This is the Council of All Kindreds, and we are within the Forbidden Forest. You have nothing to fear, Mr. Malfoy." said Harry, extending a hand to help the blond to his feet.

"Jones? This is your doing, then?" stammered Lucius.

Harry chuckled. "Not mine alone, never. I've only helped a bit." He shook his head a Lucius's questioning eyebrow. "Not so much, with you. That was all Draco, your wife, Professor Snape... and Sirius."

Lucius turned helplessly to the Animagus Black. "Why?"

Sirius shrugged. "You're family. How about you share what you know?"

Tonks came forward with the phial of Veritaserum, at a signal from Madam Bones.

"Hufflepuff's heirloom, the golden cup... the Dark Lord entrusted that treasure to Bellatrix, at the same time he gave me the diary. He said they were tokens of his esteem, powerful Dark objects... we were to guard them until he ordered us to strike at his enemies..."

Lucius's shoulders were hunched and his entire frame shook. The huge step the blond had taken, openly betraying his Master, was not lost on Harry, who conjured a goblet with water and offered it to the blond.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. That was very brave of you. How about you go sit with your family a while?"

Draco and Narcissa helped Lucius back to their spot among the renegade Death Eaters. In a surprisingly open gesture, his comrades received Lucius with pats of approval. Tomoe's coils quivered with delight.

"_Well done, my nestlings!_"

* * *

"Indeed!" agreed Harry. He turned once more to the Council, intent on requesting permission for another Auror operative, when the two spokes-goblins gestured for a turn. Harry moved aside, and the whole clearing fell silent.

"The Goblin Nation had long held itself as aloof as possible from humans. Our history has been long and difficult... many of us felt offended with the results of our last... negotiations. Now, however, it seems humans are growing wise... some of them, at least."

Griphook smirked at Harry, who returned it levelly, earning himself a curt nod.

"When word of this Council reached us, the Elders of the Goblin Nation came together in a council of our own. Long we thought that the one called Voldemort was a problem for wizards alone. A Council had not been called for so long, we decided to come.

"As is the custom, we brought a peace offering. It was decided to change rules, so we did not offer it at the start."

Gornuk had taken an ornate box from a pocket, and opened it at Griphook's pause. Within lay Hufflepuff's golden Cup.

"This was left in our custody, a duty we are sworn never to fail. The Council is greater law, so the Goblin Nation makes an exception. Not to be taken lightly. It is only because it is cursed by this Voldemort, and the Council is against him. Never otherwise."

Gornuk placed the open box before the Rock, and stepped aside. Amid a wave of murmurs, all expressing approval and gratitude, (mostly in the form of fond wishes of prosperity for the Goblin Nation), all around the circle echoed Gornuk's gesture, creating an opening for Brehas to slither his gigantic head through. All backs turned as the great serpent opened his lethal maw to drip poison onto the Horcrux, which promptly sizzled and collapsed on itself with a shrill bloodcurdling cry. Stifling their curiosity, none turned back until the tremor caused by the displacement of the basilisk's bulk had subsided.

"That is four Horcruxes accounted for. Well done, sirs Goblins, Lord Brehas." said Snape.

"May the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix have permission to hunt down the Gaunt Ring?" requested Harry, fast on the heels of his Head of House.

"_As if we could deny you! Be gone, and let the Winged One go with you._" spat an impatient Tomoe. Fawkes understood the python's unease—the Gaunt Ring lay hidden in Riddle's home turf—and promptly offered his long tail feathers to Snape, behind whom lined up the chosen warriors: Kingsley, Moody, Tonks, Professor Flitwick, Sirius, Remus, Arthur and Bill Weasley, and the young Healer and mongoose Animagus, Octavia Ríos.


	13. Ashes and Rain

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter Thirteen: Ashes and Rain**

The protections on the Gaunt Ring were particularly insidious, perhaps because a most emotionally wrought death had made this Horcrux. A recently graduated Tom Riddle had arrived at Little Hangleton expecting to unveil aristocratic splendor as his birthright. He had found abject poverty and decayed ruin instead. His Slytherin blood flowed not from his father, but from his disgraced mother, fled from the bitter nest in pursuit of a stillborn dream. The deaths of Riddle's Muggle father and grandparents had made the ring Horcrux. The cursed ornament was obviously meant to smite whoever stumbled upon the dregs of Salazar Slytherin's bloodline.

At length, Bill Weasley managed to disarm the last external curses. A final, perfidious piece of sorcery remained embedded in the ring itself: when it touched living flesh, it would devour the wearer's life force... excruciatingly slowly.

"Dreadful piece of work, but a masterpiece nonetheless." Filius Flitwick could not help observing as he conjured a charmed vessel to contain the lethal heirloom. "Such mental and magical prowess wasted." lamented the Charms Master.

"You can mourn him when he's dead, Filius." scoffed a disgusted Mad-Eye Moody. "Ladies, gentlemen, we've got what we came here for. Let's go. The sooner the basilisk fries this thing, the better."

Octavia Ríos was the last to climb down from the vantage point she had chosen to survey their surroundings. The mongoose Animagus reared upon her lithe hind quarters, her rich brown eyes glinting eerily crimson in the moonlight—another feature the Serpent Slayer mimicked from her specialty prey.

"The Abomination is close by." she murmured coldly, human once more.

Snape drew back a step, awestruck. Composing himself with his accustomed speed, he grasped her forearm lightly.

"Soon enough, milady, you shall hunt at your leisure."

"Is that a promise, Serpent Elder?" drawled Octavia.

Snape met her steely gaze levelly.

"You have my word, Serpent Slayer."

* * *

Those waiting around the Council Rock indulged in less weightier considerations. The Hogwarts students hounded the Joneses, anxious to hear of their adventures during the past year. As usual, the Slytherins deferred to Draco. To expedite matters, the rest agreed to go along.

"So, Jones, care to tell us where you've been? Was the leaving in a hurry just a ruse? Were you right under our noses all this time?" drawled the blond.

Harry let out a hearty chuckle.

"As in character as that would be for our House, Draco, I'm sorry to disappoint. My parents and I did leave Britain. We got back sometime in January, after a lot of scurrying around in the dark." he grinned at his parents.

"Fine, but _where_ were you?" insisted the blond.

Harry's expression became solemn. "On quest among the Hidden Clans. They live deep in the world's remaining wild places—the Australian ones are quite a strange lot." he commented fondly. "One of Mum's great-uncles came from a North American clan. His side of the family pointed us in the right direction."

The elder Joneses became the absolute center of attention. "You're not Muggles after all, then?" inquired Draco.

"We were just Muggles... at least _I_ was." Irwin grinned mischievously at his wife. "I still have no idea what exactly our son's magic turned us into."

Draco continued the interview after the spate of giggles abated. "What is so special about these Hidden Clans?"

Diane smiled warmly. "They have an especially close relationship with the land and their fellow inhabitants. Every man, woman and child learns to become an Animagus. They all assume their non-human form permanently at some point in their lives. Some do it as soon as they master the change; others choose to live full human lives until old age. But none of them passes away as human—it is their highest Law."

"Why is that?" pressed Draco.

Diane's eyes glowed with joy, and her voice became lyrical. "So the magic returns to the land, to nourish all living beings in it, forever and ever.

"As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the power runs forward and back... for the strength of the Clans is the Wild, and the strength of the Wild is the Clans."

* * *

Diane's bout of poetry smashed the last remnants of pureblood stiffness. The wary adults in the crowd around her and her husband approached eagerly now—they recognized the lore of ages, and thereby these strangers' kinship, however distant. As the young people moved aside, Ronald Weasley took the chance to catch up with Harry.

"So, you went native, mate?"

"You could say that, Ron." answered Harry with a guffaw.

Ron's waggled his eyebrows. "What about your woman? She Hidden Clan too?"

Harry's expression became dreamy. "Tavi? No, she went to the Clans to study, like me."

"Lucky girl." murmured Ginevra Weasley, who had followed them silently.

Harry's features lit up as he shook his head vigorously. "Tavi? No, no. _I_ was the lucky one. I never dreamed she would even _look_ my way, let alone become my betrothed."

Ron whooped and punched Harry's shoulder good-naturedly.

"Wow, mate, congratulations! That's just _wicked_! She got any sisters?"

Ginny's face flushed. "Ron! Wait till Hermione hears you said that!"

"Aw, Gin, don't be a spoilsport!" The redhead nudged Harry again. "C'mon, mate, _details_!"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Ron. I don't kiss and tell."

He then sighed happily. "I met her at a Muggle hostel-cum-research station on the banks of a tributary of the Orinoco River. She'd hired the same guides as my folks for the rest of her trip, so we went together from there. Oh, and she does have three older sisters, but they're all married. Sorry, mate."

Ron chuckled. "Eh, no harm in asking. Ginny's right though, Hermione and I are together."

"That's great news, Ron. Well, you two have _my_ congratulations."

"Yeah, I suppose one has to be either a bookworm or a savage." spat Ginny.

Harry blinked. "Ginevra? What's wrong?"

The youngest Weasley sneered venomously. "Oh, _nothing_'s wrong. What could possibly be wrong? Only _years_ of effort, all ruined by a bloody foreign cow!" she fumed.

Ron and Harry gaped after the storming Ginny.

"Ron? What's the matter with her?"

The redhead scratched his flaming hair. "Think she's jealous, mate. She'd a crush on you years back. Thought she'd outgrown it."

"Obviously not." another sudden voice made Harry and Ron jump.

"Parkinson! You nearly gave me a heart attack, mate!" cried Ron.

"Sorry, Ronald." said Pansy. "About your sister, though. She made it very clear to all of us, after the Houses started getting friendly: Harry was _hers_."

Pansy turned to smile wistfully at Draco, still in animated conversation with the Joneses.

"Don't mind her though. She just needs to get the jealousy out of her system. I'll go talk to her."

Ron and Harry gaped between Draco and the retreating Pansy.

"Uh, mate?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"Er, never mind. Say, who's that with Malfoy?"

Harry noticed another girl standing close to Draco. Their bodies were angled toward one another, touching gently and often.

"Astoria Greengrass. I hadn't noticed." Harry sighed, scratching his head. "Can't believe how thick I am about these things, even after... you know..." he trailed off uncomfortably.

Ron guffawed. "Guess _señorita_ Octavia had to do all the work, huh?"

Harry reddened so fast Ron feared he would explode.

* * *

A tap on Harry's shoulder interrupted the levity.

"Son, the Minister and Madam Bones request your assistance. Political matters." indicated Irwin.

Harry recalled the Council's other goal, besides bringing Dumbledore to justice and allying formally against Voldemort: legal recognition of non-human rights by the human government. Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour were presently locked in a battle of glares, under the impatient scowls of Bane, Murkus, Griphook and Gornuk. Even Kreacher shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, mumbling his discontent.

"I was not Minister when this... project was put forward, Amelia." argued Scrimgeour. "Surely it is fair to ask for more time to study the issue appropriately?"

"It has already been studied to death, Rufus! Every possible concern and contention has been addressed, and settled to the satisfaction of all parties!" gritted Madam Bones. "The Wizengamot has even achieved positive consensus on all relevant pieces of legislation. Further delay is unnecessary and senseless, not to mention gravely insulting."

"I need to be absolutely sure of that before I sign those laws."

Harry cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Mr. Pot... ahem, Mr. Jones. How kind of you to join us."

"Minister Scrimgeour. Madam Bones. How may I help you?"

Scrimgeour's lip curled. "For starters, young man, surely you see my point? I simply cannot commit to a course of action without due consideration."

Harry winked at the Chief Warlock, then swished his wand briskly. "_Muffliato_."

"Mr. P... Jones, what is the meaning of this?"

"The whole Council need not be privy to this bit of discussion."

"I have nothing to hide." blustered Scrimgeour.

"On the contrary sir. You are hiding quite successfully the fact that you're my fellow Slytherin."

"What in Merlin's name are you on about?"

"Well, you see, Minister, Slytherin House has always taught its members to be cunning in pursuit of power."

Scrimgeour reddened. "I will not be insulted, P... Jones!"

Harry's eyes flashed. "Neither will I, sir! You're still caught up in the fiction of Harry Potter... a tall tale concocted by that old man in chains over there!" He growled, pointing at Dumbledore.

"My name is _Jones_, and if you'd rather I not question your intelligence, you'll not make that bloody slip again... _ever_!"

"Are you threatening me? Here, at a Council called ostensibly for _peaceful _negotiations?" sneered Scrimgeour.

"No, sir." snarled Harry. "_You_ are threatening Slytherin with shame and ridicule. Voldemort has already damned us enough. Sign those laws, and our honor shall be preserved _forever_!

"Don't you _see_? Brehas is nearly a thousand years old... he can well live another thousand. Fawkes is immortal. Centaurs, goblins, giants; they all live for much longer than we do. They will _still_ be around when we're just footnotes in the history books. This Council will remain in living memory for ages! Our names may be forgotten, but not the fact that Slytherin House finally cleaned up its own mess!"

Harry's impassioned plea triggered an enlightening flashback in Rufus Scrimgeour. Once more he was an overwhelmed youth stuck in the House disparaged as a cradle of Dark witches and wizards. He heard himself swear to do precisely what Harry had just alluded to: clean the Slytherin mess. Thus he became an Auror—one of the very best, rising through the ranks to lead the entire force in the war against the Dark. Then, during the past decade of peacetime, he had felt the lure of power, and labored to position himself as a suitable candidate for his present post. Unlike his deranged contemporary, Tom Riddle, Scrimgeour had channeled the hunger in a much more efficient manner: one that left him a robust constituency to govern, instead of a lifeless desolation.

Now a youth that could be his grandson pointed the way to increase that constituency, exponentially and indefinitely... _and he was stalling?_!

Burning with chagrin, the Minister cleared his throat.

"I realize... that you are quite correct, Mr. Jones. Legal recognition of these beings' rights can only benefit all of us in the long run. You have my word that by first hour tomorrow the ink will be dry on those parchments."

Another deafening tumult of expressions of approval made Scrimgeour stumble back a few steps: Harry had canceled the Muffling Charm without warning.

A Slytherin through and through, indeed.

* * *

Scrimgeour's announcement and the ensuing commotion roused Dumbledore from a light doze. His eyes twinkled, and he sighed contentedly as he registered the reason for the uproar: his stupidity had not ruined everything. Tomoe noticed the reaction, as well as the strain in the wizard's muscles from standing in chains for too long. The python let her coils flow gracefully from the Council Rock until they provided Dumbledore with a comfortable chaise.

"_Well met, is it not, Elder?_"

Dumbledore nodded at the triangular head draped over his shoulder.

"Indeed. Harry has done so well, despite my having done so terribly." He admired the glistening coils. "You have my thanks, Miss Tomoe, for your thoughtfulness."

"_Sa. Even the bitterest of enemies is due honor at Council... and elsewhere._"

Dumbledore looked pensive.

"It must be awkward, with Miss Ríos."

Tomoe crooned her amusement. "_Tavi Serpent-Slayer has the favor of all kindreds, and there is prey enough in the Forest for both of us. Besides, Slayers have a predilection for the Poison People—it is what humans value most about their kind._"

"Ah. Another detail Tom never cared to learn." he stroked his beard. "You and Brehas have my condolences: it cannot have been easy to condemn one of your own."

"_Thanks, Elder. Yet Nagini doomed herself, when she partook of the Abomination's blight. Perhaps she was bred in captivity, and was never taught the Law._"

"It seems I once heard you too were bred thus, Miss Tomoe."

The python crooned again. "_Sa. It is well met that you wish to know more. I was indeed hatched among your kind—but nurtured by those of you who are worth all the pain the rest visit on us all._"

Dumbledore winced. "I am truly, desperately sorry for all the grief I have caused, Miss Tomoe. Would that I could undo the horrors I have wrought."

The python tightened a comforting coil around the aged wizard's shoulders.

"_The Flame-Winged One told us of your repentance. I accept your apology. Harry did as well, though you may not hear him speak it._"

Dumbledore smiled wryly. "Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin could not be prouder."

Serpent and wizard were silent for a long moment, contemplating the festive atmosphere. Tears coursed down wrinkled cheeks as Dumbledore gazed at the renegade Death Eaters Vanish their funereal cloaks and masks and gingerly mingle with the rest of their motley company, heedless of bloodline or species. Horace Slughorn weaved purposefully among his former students, proffering apologies and cementing new _mutually beneficial_ understandings. Albus sighed: it was a pleasant enough moment to depart for the next great adventure.

"_Commendable, such an outlook._"

Albus hadn't realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. He composed himself admirably quickly.

"Well, Miss Tomoe, it is hardly a secret, after the Chief Warlock's enthusiastic pronouncement." A flash of red and gold lit the night sky, announcing Fawkes's imminent arrival.

Albus chuckled wryly. "Ah, here comes the _Fellowship of the Ring_."

* * *

Bill Weasley and Filius Flitwick carefully deposited the Gaunt Ring upon the Council Rock. Further exhaustive probing merely confirmed Snape's horrifying suspicions: The only surefire way of destroying the Horcrux was for one of their number to wear it, sacrificing at least a limb to both the curse and Brehas's venom.

"I shall bear it," declared Aragog. "My end is close. I shall gift my carcass to this Council. Rasag, aid me."

The ailing Acromantula threaded one of his pincer tips through the ring. The dread enchantment, however, remained dormant.

"It seems warm blood is required." Snape's tone oozed his repugnance.

Fawkes swooped toward the Rock as Rasag bore away her disappointed sire. The ring shuddered as the shining talon slid through, but the Dark trap did not spring.

"_Salazar_! The Dark Lord meant it for a human!" spat the Potions Master.

"Allow me." Dumbledore's voice rang into the viscous silence.

All eyes turned to the former Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"This Council has already decreed my death. Let this Horcrux be the instrument of my execution."

"_Yes, let it be. Let the Elder keep his honor by dying as he will._" agreed Tomoe.

One by one, each non-human representative seconded Tomoe's reasoning. One lone voice, however, interrupted Madam Bones as she stood to confirm the sentence.

"The Professor is guilty, and this Council has the right of judgment. But I must ask whether this makes us the same as Voldemort?"

A chorus of gasps answered Harry. Hagrid and Molly Weasley reached for kerchiefs, all the while mumbling about Harry's heart of gold.

"Trust the _Good Slytherin_ to think of that." breathed a stunned Draco to an equally flabbergasted Ron.

"_It does not make us Abomination, brave nestling and hunt-brother_." answered Brehas, gravely. "_For we shall not prolong his suffering, or delight in it. The Eaters of Flesh kill from need alone: Well you know this, who have brought down your own nourishment in this very Forest! The Elder chooses his death, as is his right, and I shall be prompt in my mercy._"

Harry nodded. "So mote it be, then."

Madam Bones assumed all the solemnity of her role.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you are hereby found guilty of high treason, against your fellow humans and all magical living beings of the British Isles. Your penalty shall be death. Do you have any last words or requests?"

"Only one, Madam Chief Warlock. I wonder if Mr. Harry Jones would consent to Legilimize me."

Harry acquiesced. A plethora of emotions paraded across his visage, from patent disbelief, to scathing fury, to a fathomless sorrow so massive it could be plucked from midair, if one but extended an appendage toward it. The connection ended with a near audible snap. A shaken and distraught Harry trudged heavily back to Octavia, who opened her arms wordlessly to gently enfold his weary shoulders.

* * *

An earthquake heralded the approach of Brehas, releasing the bemused spectators from their stupor. Tomoe rearranged her coils so that Dumbledore's arms could rest upon the Council Rock, and she could shroud her head in a fold of the aged wizard's flowing robe. Dumbledore slid the lethal ring onto his right forefinger in one smooth gesture.

Foul magic exploded savagely into defenseless flesh, defiling the bloodstream, angling unerringly toward the vital organs, bent on negating their purpose and obliterating their existence. Dumbledore's entire body spasmed; blood dripped from a lower lip, bitten to stifle a scream.

"_Elder... Look... at me..._"

Bloodshot turquoise met compassionate, searing topaz. Tomoe might well have been embracing a rag doll. A curtain of flame enveloped the Council Rock as Brehas rained doom upon the Horcrux. The conflagration subsided as abruptly as it began, and the basilisk made his ponderous return to his place. Stillness signaled safety. At last, the Council of All Kindreds raised its collective eyes to behold a mystery of mysteries:

The Gaunt Ring was seamlessly fused to the Rock, the rough-cut stone cracked clean through its center. Opalescent light welled up from the gash. Every being mutely studied the nacreous glow, entranced by the wonders within its depths. None spoke of those sights then, but in years to come, a new legend came to be reverently whispered, and eventually became an apocryphal addition to such anthologies as _Tales of Beedle the Bard_.

All those who, in the throes of grief, would snatch a last glimpse of their beloved departed, need but set on pilgrimage to the Council Clearing at heart of the Forbidden Forest, there to gaze upon the quicksilver depths of the broken jewel upon the Council Rock.


	14. Letting In The Dungeon

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

**

* * *

The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter Fourteen: Letting In The Dungeon  
**

Events progressed rapidly following the developments at the Council of All Kindreds. A veritable avalanche; nay, an implacable tidal wave swept the British Wizarding Community, tearing up the roots of that stagnated society, swamping its obsolescent institutions off its flimsy moorings. Helmed by the improbable, yet brutally efficient, triumvirate of Rufus Scrimgeour, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Amelia Bones, the reformed Ministry of Magic and the new Wizengamot slowly but surely stamped out the corrupt elements that would have handed the system over to Lord Voldemort in a silver platter. One after the other the Dark agents fell, flushed out of the woodwork like so many noisome maggots, fully gorged bearers of plague.

It was no picnic in the park for the forces of law and order: the Death Eaters, whether openly Marked or cleverly forgoing their Dark Lord's sigil, refused to yield except in pitched battle, spewing the foulest curses in their murderous rage. Ironically, such virulence from the enemy restored and cemented public confidence in their elected leadership. Rita Skeeter stated it best: _Once again, dear readers, can any of you conceive the possibility that these undesirables have wholly feigned such abiding hatred, toward the ideals of justice and freedom for all members of our community_?

Under such auspices that summer ended: with a glorious dawn instead of an uncertain twilight. With no shadows cast, the difference became clear, between what would bear life, and grow, and flourish, and that which had come to the end of its trail.

* * *

"It seems they've _finally_ learned from two decades of mistakes." declared Diane Jones as she closed the Daily Prophet. "Granting field appointments into the Auror Corps to Order of the Phoenix members; setting up a civilian training program, starting with instructions to cast Canceling Spells first and ask questions later... they're really inspired."

"Public disgrace—and the enemy at the gates—are the best teachers of politicians." agreed her husband.

The soft patter of feet down the stairs made Diane look up.

"Good morning, Diane." greeted Octavia Ríos.

"Same to you, child." Diane noted Octavia already wore her green Healer's robes. "Hm, don't you dare leave without a good breakfast!"

"I wouldn't dream of it, _Mum_." smiled the Animagus. She briskly sat down and began piling food on her plate.

"Greetings, sir." She added in Irwin's direction before digging in.

He too noted Octavia's uniform. "Reporting to work early, eh?"

Octavia nodded, dark braids swaying. "We aim to be ready by Midwinter, sir."

Irwin shook her head. "I told you to address me by my given name, child." he chided.

Octavia ducked her head. "Sorry, Irwin. I simply cannot help seeing you as a commander."

"I'll take that as a compliment, but remember _that_ is now officially over."

Diane's eyes grew misty at that comment. She gazed out the window for a long moment, then sighed gustily.

"You may never have expected _me_ to say this," she began, "but though my heart belongs to the wilderness, I am relieved to be back here."

"Too much of a good thing?" queried Irwin.

"Too much a human, and a Muggle. _Diane drives Diane. My own feet take me back_." she paraphrased her favorite author. She sighed again, then shook her head to clear it.

"Ah well. Enough of that. Where's my dear son?"

"Sleeping in. I already packed his trunk—the Cloak of Invisibility is on its way to Mr. Black, as you asked." Octavia then frowned. "I told Harry he could sleep for even longer if he just Apparated in the evening, but he insists on taking the Hogwarts Express."

"Politics." explained Irwin. "If he behaves strictly like a student, none can argue him into battle before the right time."

"Not that they won't try, of course. They can't help it, any more than they can help trying to rope us back in as well."

The idea scandalized Octavia. "Agreements at Council are Law!"

Diane chuckled. "Your piety is commendable, child, but we're not in the Forest anymore. Humans have a thousand ways of straying from both letter and spirit of _any_ law."

"Not only humans, either." grunted Irwin.

"Irwin!" Octavia's eyes darted fretfully.

"Oh, that's enough, Irwin." Diane mock-scolded. "We're all birds of a feather here." Her eyes were full of mirth.

"True." admitted Irwin. "Yet more things were agreed at that Council than were written down for the Minister of Magic to sign into human law. Magic or no magic, ages of discord won't be forgotten in one night."

Octavia's eyes narrowed. Irwin smirked.

"Hold on tighter to your mask next time, girl, or you'll find yourself between a rock and a hard place." he chortled.

Octavia inclined her head. "It is only with you, Irwin, that I slip so. Hence my reluctance to abandon formality in your presence."

The ensuing hilarity could be heard two houses over from Number Nine, Privet Drive.

* * *

Harry found it impossible to doze off as the scarlet engine bore the students northward for another year of studies. The cabin Harry shared with his close friends felt stifling to the green-eyed brunet. The atmosphere fairly sparked with the excitement, as past and current articles from both the Prophet and the Quibbler were read, reread and dissected. About to snap a call for silence, Harry remembered he could not fault them. The news meant the world to Draco, Theo, Vince, Greg and the other Slytherins, and were balm for the concerns of the rest, whose families were also in or near the front lines.

The renegade Death Eaters upheld their oaths before the Council of All Kindreds, and eagerly cooperated in laying bare the pestilent innards of their former clique. Yet they still must be tried openly, for transparency's sake. The most protracted and grueling ordeal was that of the Malfoys, who had provided the financial and social backbone of Lord Voldemort's outfit for decades. A pleasant surprise, however, awaited Lucius and Narcissa at the end of their gauntlet: their invaluable intelligence had earned them a full pardon. Moreover, their trial established a precedent. Eventually all the renegade families regained possession of their estates—after long hours of overtime by Gringotts Bank's most skilled curse-breakers.

Most felicitous was the social implication of these results: a chance at vindication for those ancient houses—as they labored to mitigate the damage their heinous lapse had wrought, their tarnished reputations would mend as well. Again Rita Skeeter boldly stated what official spokespersons could not: _Can anyone think, dear readers, of a better way to secure the unanimous support of Purebloods for the radical and visionary reforms negotiated at the Council of All Kindreds_?

* * *

Hogwarts was at the epicenter of the new era. The Board of Governors acted swiftly to formally welcome non- and part-humans to the school community. A new, obligatory core course in Magical Natural History—team-taught by representatives of each species—was immediately implemented. It was but the first step in a master plan designed to achieve full inter-species integration within the next half-century.

Visible and palpable changes in the layout of the Great Hall awed both new and returning students. No longer did the four House Tables rest upon a flagstone floor: vines and grasses carpeted every surface; trees reached toward the magical ceiling. The great standards of the Four Houses swayed in a gentle breeze redolent of warm earth. The ponderous coils of Brehas framed the Head Table; the basilisk's head, as always, politely averted. Minerva McGonagall presided an awesome company featuring many of the envoys to the Council. Fawkes the phoenix perched upon the back of the Headmistress's chair, while Tomoe the rock python draped herself along the sides, triangular head coming to rest beside golden talons.

The great doors opened to admit the new Deputy Headmaster, Potions Master Severus Snape, at the head of a quivering mass of first years. For the first time ever, non-human and human younglings stood together in line. The formidable stare of the Head of Slytherin quelled the tide of awed whispers in seconds, and the Sorting commenced.

"Anders, Phorcis." A towering, gaunt, pale youth with prominent canines and eerily glinting eyes glided forward as if made of mist. "RAVENCLAW." The Ravenclaws' applause was brief and reluctant. Anders glanced at his new Housemates, ascertained their mood, and sought out the emblem of the House of Serpents. Draco nudged a distracted Harry, who bowed gravely to Anders and glared fiercely at the Ravenclaws. Luna Lovegood snapped back to the present, and averted disaster by clapping enthusiastically, and motioning Anders to sit beside her. The rest of the House of Eagles trembled, red-faced, for now the Deputy Headmaster's formidable scowl was upon them, promising doom to all except Luna.

After a few terrifying seconds, beetle-black eyes returned to parchment.

"Onua of the Centaurs." A centaur filly, her equine half—black with white stockings and a silvery tail—contrasting nicely with her creamy human skin and black braids, accepted the charmed headdress. "HUFFLEPUFF." This time the ovation was immediate and vigorous, as expected from the House of Badgers.

"Raoul of the Centaurs." Onua's herd-brother, half blue roan and half blond boy, stepped up next. "HUFFLEPUFF." He too was quickly and heartily embraced by their new herd.

After a score of human children, "Ereisbrit of the Mer-Folk" did her best to keep her bubble from wobbling as she approached the Potions Master. "SLYTHERIN." Snape bowed to the young mermaid, and motioned her toward her new Housemates. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode shifted so Ereisbrit could fit between them, and began the round of introductions. When they came to Harry, the mermaid bowed.

"My people thank you for this gift, Hunt-Master." All eyes widened at the title. Harry returned the bow, but shook his head at his Housemates.

"Not my craft, but that of the Elders of my kindred." He nodded toward the humans around the Head Table. "I accept your gratitude in their stead." For it had been Professor Flitwick's work, the series of spells which not only granted the protective bubble infinite stability but also the power to translate Ereisbrit's speech from Mermish to English, and vice-versa for human speakers.

The Sorting continued with no other patently alien participants, but a handful of new Gryffindors made a point of bowing low in the direction of Remus Lupin. Hermione quickly discerned the implication.

"You're werewolves! That's fantastic! You'll love it here! I'm Hermione Granger—a prefect, so feel free to ask me anything." she told the three boys and two girls.

"Is it true Packleader Lupin attended Hogwarts as a human?" blurted the boldest of the five.

Hermione smiled. "No, he attended as a werewolf, just like you."

"Yeah, and had a jolly good time too. I'm Ron Weasley, by the way—a prefect too." Ron shook each student's hand, then turned to his girlfriend. "Say, Hermione, you've got to help me with the Animagus transformation."

The five first years perked up at that.

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione glared at her boyfriend, then turned sternly to the young werewolves. "Never you mind him." She looked up to the Head Table. "Let's listen to the Headmistress."

McGonagall tapped her goblet for attention.

"It is my greatest honor and pleasure to accept the challenge of leading Hogwarts in these momentous, yet marvelous times. Our community is at war as we speak. _This_," she encompassed the entire Hall in her gesture, "is what we fight for: the end of centuries of injustice and the beginning of a new era of _true_ brother- and sisterhood among _all_ magical peoples.

"In that vein, I wish to welcome all our new Faculty members: You all remember Professor Rubeus Hagrid. Joining him are Herdmaster Bane of the Centaurs... Griphook of the Goblin Nation... Mer-Chieftainess Murkus... Web-Mother Rasag... Kreacher and Dobby of the Elves... and a dear alumnus: Remus John Lupin.

"A few years back, we benefited from Professor Lupin's experience in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Now we will do so again, in accord with our new method for that subject. This time, however, Professor Lupin assumes two other mantles at Hogwarts: Professor of Transfiguration, and Head of Gryffindor House."

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers and catcalls. The Headmistress allowed it before calling for silence once more.

"You have all noticed the presence of Lord Brehas of the Serpents, Guardian of Hogwarts appointed by Founder Salazar Slytherin. This term, Lord Brehas will carry out his duty unhindered, and extend his service to our neighbors in Hogsmeade."

Deafening cheers met this announcement. Practically every student had been to the Chamber, making friends with the basilisk with Harry's assistance. The Headmistress allowed the response for a few seconds before tapping her goblet.

"This is not to say we can afford carelessness—Lord Brehas cannot be two places at once. Therefore, he will be ably assisted by members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Several Aurors rose and waved briefly, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, and Nymphadora Tonks.

"They and others of their Department will be with us for the duration of this term. Besides helping keep us safe, they will participate in Defense classes and the Dueling Club. It is essential that we all cooperate fully with them in any situation, and that all students use this opportunity to learn as much as possible. This I cannot stress enough: _Our lives depend on it_."

McGonagall's eyes roved the House Tables, seeking to imprint on the youngsters before her the gravity of her last statement. At length, she nodded.

"Very well. Thank you all for your attention, and let the Feast commence."

* * *

Hogwarts moved on, resolute as the herds of the mighty ungulates of the Sea of Grass, driven by the promise of the Rains, ever alert against the incursions of the Eaters of Flesh. The natural curiosity of youth, stimulated and encouraged during each lesson in Magical Natural History, began to transmute mere tolerance into acceptance. As inter-House relations had years before, inter-species friendships sprouted, and, in time, rooted deeply and blossomed riotously.

In the Hufflepuff Cellars, away from the potential disapproval of their elders, Onua and Raoul allowed their new friends to snatch rides on their backs.

The Gryffindor werewolves, minds clear thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion, joined the student Animagi in hunt and play at the Guardian's Chamber—paws and hooves leaving no mark under the moonlight.

In the Slytherin Dungeons, under the aegis of Severus Snape and Brood-mother Tomoe, Ereisbrit shed the prejudices and animosity long harbored by her kind. Her entrancing songs lulled her Housemates to pleasant dreamscapes and retrieved them, invigorated, come morning. Tomoe could often be seen sharing the mermaid's bubble, and the strange pair would frequently visit Ereisbrit's folk deep in the waters of the Forbidden Lake.

Phorcis Anders was less fortunate. His nocturnal habits precluded other students from becoming used to his presence: even with the aid of potions he only ever sat the afternoon lessons, and required private tutoring for those held in the mornings. His role as a teaching resource in Magical Natural History did nothing to lessen his distance from the other students. His feeding habits aroused curiosity, but inevitably horrified most full humans. The werewolves, and those Animagi whose forms were predators, were courteous and kind to Anders whenever they met him. They always invited the vampire to hunt beside them, which was fine at night. Alas, he could not follow their human selves into the sunlight.

Away from others of his kind—the vampires acknowledged the rule of the Council, but sent no representatives; in fact, sending Anders to Hogwarts was a testing of the waters—Phorcis remained an outcast, and grew bitter in his loneliness. He started shying away from the other predators. They, mindful of the right of any Eater of Flesh to hunt alone, did not question him. Harry was no help: like all other non- and part-humans, Anders regarded him as an Elder, and would not seek or allow his confidence.

Phorcis Anders seemed fated to become the damning exception to the rule.

* * *

"Hi there."

A limp furry body thudded to the ground in the Guardian's Chamber. A shadow shot toward the sudden voice. One moment the human silhouette stood alone across the clearing; the next, incredibly strong pale arms had bent the slim body sideways, exposing the soft throat to dripping fangs.

"You should not have come, human."

"Why not? You're my Housemate."

Luna Lovegood's dreamy voice was calm despite her dire situation.

"You're prey!" snarled Anders.

Luna shook her head decisively against the vampire's shoulder.

"That was before Harry. We're friends now."

Phorcis released her abruptly. Off balance, Luna toppled.

"Ow." she complained softly.

A pale hand stretched toward her. She accepted it.

"Did the Hunt-Master send you?"

Luna shook her head. "No."

His hand seized her shoulder and shook her like a rag doll.

"Then you're a fool! Get out!"

Luna smiled.

"I don't mind if you feed. Just drop me off at the Hospital Wing when you're done."

Anders drew back as if scalded by sunlight.

"Do you truly mean that, human?" he stammered, awestruck. Though his senses had already told him as much, he dared not believe. Luna nodded serenely.

"We're friends." she insisted, presenting her throat.

The gesture disarmed the vampire. He lowered his head.

"I cannot, by the Will of the Council. But I thank you."

Luna smiled blindingly, and extended a hand.

"Luna Lovegood."

A scarlet tear flowed down the young vampire's face. He stood frozen a long moment, bitterness struggling with hope. At last, he reciprocated the gesture.

"Phorcis Anders."

Thus Phorcis rejoined the other predators in the hunt, and followed Luna to the library during the afternoons and early evenings. Luna broke the ice between Anders and other first years, as well as among their Housemates. She stayed close by the young vampire, encouraging him when he faltered, standing up for him when necessary. Luna's friends from other Houses helped immensely, as they welcomed Phorcis without reserve. Not everyone joined Luna's effort, but enough did that Anders could send word to his people that the new laws could help their kindred as well.

* * *

Outside the haven of Hogwarts, the Wizarding community appeared to be winning the war. The remaining Death Eaters were routed consistently at the near-weekly skirmishes they launched at various landmarks or Ministry installations. Lord Voldemort had not led his followers in long months. The Ministry made a point of not lowering its collective guard, not even as the attacks became more haphazard and poorly coordinated. There still remained certain crucial weaknesses in the alliance against the Dark, however...

"There is no doubt about it." complained Octavia frequently in her letters to Harry. "The Abomination is not so foolish as to provide a stationary target. The Tainted One cleaves to her foul master's side, keeping thus out of my reach. I insist, my love: I _must_ devote myself to this hunting! (sigh) But my work as Healer is vital to the Wild Kindreds. (huff) I shall therefore wait for the inauguration of the Hospital for Non-Humans. BUT NO MORE. As long as the Tainted One lives we will not see the greater hunting to its end. I will not have it said that Tavi Serpent Slayer failed her sworn duty."

Harry scrunched the parchment in a trembling fist, and gazed bleakly at the late autumn sky.

"_What troubles you, my nestling?_" queried Tomoe, roused by Harry's clenching muscles.

"_Nothing of import, dear Brood-mother._" said Harry dismissively.

Had her change of skin not been upon her, Tomoe would have known Harry was lying through his teeth.

* * *

The morning after the Welcoming Feast, Harry had established that he would no longer take any active role in the historic developments his own deeds had instigated. Accordingly, Harry devoted himself exclusively to his studies—a course of action reasonable enough for any fifth year, let alone one who had taken a year-long leave of absence. Hermione Granger glowed with pride in her friend, and safeguarded his privacy together with the Slytherins.

Pride became concern, however, when Harry's temper grew shorter, his mood darker, his manner boorish to the point of obnoxiousness. Soon it was obvious that Harry's mood worsened with the receipt of each letter from Octavia—parchments so heavy with privacy charms that it seemed they would explode like Howlers. Harry became especially tight-lipped after reading them, a clear signal for all to clear his path or else. Hermione finally decided to speak up, but her friends disagreed.

"Look around you." argued Draco. "Hogwarts can stand on its own now. They don't need the _Good Slytherin_ to hold their hand anymore."

"Yeah, Hermione," agreed Ron. "He's just missing the wife." As always, the redhead turned to humor to defuse unpleasantness.

Hermione scowled. "I'm still worried for him." she countered. "As his friends, we all should be."

Draco shook his head.

"Jones has yet to disturb a class, or raise his wand at anyone. I say we watch him, and keep up the buffer zone around him during his worst."

"Suit yourselves." spat Hermione. "I'm speaking to Professor Lupin."

* * *

Remus Lupin asked Harry to stay behind after the next Transfiguration class, but Harry refused to air his troubles.

"Your friends are worried, cub." Lupin cajoled, to no avail.

After a few minutes of angry silence from Harry, the werewolf decided to try another tactic.

"Octavia is a big girl, cub. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

"_What_ did you just say?" came the furious rejoinder.

"You heard me."

"Keep your muzzle out of it!" shouted Harry.

Lupin's expression became forbidding. "I'll excuse this outburst, Harry, but you owe respect to your Professors." Disappointment was evident in his tone.

"As long as you remember, _Professor_, that my personal life is that: _personal_." bit out Harry.

"Harry, I'm warning you." A hint of the wolf glowered within Lupin's amber stare.

Harry's head dropped. "It's easy for you. It's not _your_ fiancee that's going solo against Lord Voldemort." he accused in a dejected tone.

"No. Mine is constantly on the lookout for his most insane followers." The werewolf's tone was wry.

Harry winced. "I'm really sorry, Remus. I..."

"Apology accepted. Just remember that I understand, cub, and my door is open, anytime. Oh, and, Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Please remember about being respectful."

Harry only nodded stiffly.

_You're wrong, Remus_, thought Harry to himself. _Tonks never fights alone, and she knows the odds. My Tavi doesn't know_... he swallowed a sob. _She doesn't know, because I'm a coward and haven't told her_, he slammed a fist against the nearest wall,_ that even if she gets by Tom and kills Nagini, Tom still won't die. But she can. Oh, my Tavi!_

The threatening tears fell.

* * *

On Boxing Day, the Ministry inaugurated the new Hospital for Non-humans, Branch of St. Mungo's. The Death Eaters' attack was both expected and successfully repelled: by now the pattern and its implications were obvious. Voldemort was looking for some weakness, and likely becoming quite frustrated. It was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord tipped his hand. The defenders judged themselves prepared.

The second Hogwarts half-term found Harry in a much better disposition. He opened up enough to reveal that he was no longer worried crazy about Octavia. Hermione and Remus Lupin breathed in relief, and helped their friend and cub with revisions and mock tests as the OWLs drew closer. They were happy to declare the issue solved.

All were rudely disabused of their notions by term's end.

* * *

The logical result of Harry's dedication was that he breezed through his Ordinary Wizarding Levels. His Defense and Transfiguration practicals were particularly masterful, leaving the examiners speechless and earning Harry Outstanding scores with high honors. His performance in Potions was slightly less stellar, but Snape, who sat in as observer, nodded approvingly nonetheless.

The last examination was History of Magic, a subject which the goblin Griphook and the ghost Cuthbert Binns taught collaboratively that year. Most ironically, Griphook succeeded where Binns had long failed: on the days the goblin lectured, the students not only stayed wide awake, but participated enthusiastically. That year's OWL responses unanimously supported the non-human perspective.

Harry's own take on that debate was never known. Midway through the test his Occlumantic barriers throbbed violently, driving him off his desk and to his knees. Wondering what could possibly have excited Voldemort so, Harry threw open his side of the mind-link.

The surroundings confused Harry momentarily. Then he discerned the convulsing form of Igor Karkaroff. A squad of older students bravely held their own against Voldemort a few feet away from their fallen Headmaster. Harry prepared to close the link and alert the nearest Auror, when he spied something that made his blood freeze.

A very familiar mongoose, claws clicking, fangs chattering, eyes glinting crimson, and tail bottled, rose on her hind legs as she harried a hooded serpent many times her size.

Voldemort had not been seen at the head of his Death Eaters the entire Hogwarts term because he had been absent from Britain.

Octavia had stopped ranting about being unable to pinpoint Nagini's location, not because she had abandoned the quest—as Harry had concluded in a fit of wishful thinking—but because she had finally succeeded.

Someone—Remus must likely—must have counseled Octavia to keep this development from Harry, that his emotional turmoil might ebb.

_They succeeded_, thought Harry, a thousand emotions coursing through him, _but now my Tavi courts death unknowing, and I cannot let her—not even if she ends up hating me for it_.

Harry gathered all his pain, his anger, his despair—in a word, his humanity, for as a wild creature, ever devoted to survival, he never would have dared his next action—and channeled it all through the link he shared with Tom Riddle.

At Durmstrang, Voldemort's magic erupted from him in a forceful wave that sent his opponents flying against the farthest wall. The animals warring nearby froze in their tracks. Mongoose and giant cobra turned as one to stare at the Dark Lord, who seemed to be struggling with himself. Suddenly the struggle ceased: flashing emerald replaced chilling crimson, and instead of a high cold half-lisp, a strong youthful voice thundered forth.

"_Petrificus totalis_." Nagini's coils thudded to the floor. The grotesque face, still terrible despite the mutations, turned to the stricken, gaping, human Octavia.

"Get out, Tavi." ordered Harry. "Take Karkaroff and go. NOW."

In the next breath the slitted eyes flashed crimson again, and the lip-less mouth formed the words to the Killing Curse.

The sickly green jet exploded against stone, raining rubble upon Nagini. Faster than death, the lithe, furred form of the Serpent Slayer shot toward the fallen Karkaroff. A second later, wounded man and bristling mongoose disappeared on the spot.

At Hogwarts, Harry's body seized violently, and the scar upon his forehead burst open, spewing blood. The horror subsided before anyone could reach him, however, and Harry staggered to his feet unassisted. The gruesome sight of his blood-spattered face and robes cleared the way out of the exam room and beyond.

Not until the Guardian's Chamber did another human make the fatal mistake of crossing Harry's trail.

* * *

Terry Boot of Ravenclaw had failed to warm up to the presence of a vampire in their midst. Wisely he had kept his prejudice to himself after most of the school welcomed Phorcis Anders. Still he had kept tabs on Phorcis and his sponsor, Luna Lovegood, throughout the school term. At last his vigilance had paid off.

"_Lumos solem_!"

Phorcis dropped his prey, screeching in pain, and scrambled to shield his smoking skin.

"_Obscurus_!" cried Luna.

"Stop protecting it, Lovegood." scolded Boot. "Can't you see it's a Dark creature? It should've never been allowed at Hogwarts!"

"You're wrong. _Petrificus_..."

Terry Boot's answering curse was as Dark as he accused Phorcis Anders of being. Luna collapsed, her body jerking as bones snapped. Boot stood over her softly moaning form.

"Look at this mess. You made me do this, Lovegood. You should've listened to me."

Busy thinking of how to deal with his victims, Boot did not hear the footsteps until he too felt the scourge of a Dark curse.

"_SECTUMSEMPRA_."

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey nearly fainted when a blood-drenched Harry marched into the Hospital Wing, three other seriously injured students floating in his wake.

"Mr. Jones... What is the meaning of this?"

"No time. Help them now or watch them die."

The Healer snapped into business mode. "_Scourgify_."

Harry's coating of blood disappeared, revealing an unscathed student. Pomfrey did not spare him a second glance, and began tending to Luna.

"I sincerely hope this is not the result of a student duel, Mr. Jones." said the Healer frostily, without looking up from Luna's now resting form. "Miss Lovegood presents damage from a Bone-Crushing Curse."

"Will she live?" inquired Harry tonelessly.

"Yes, but I had to give her Draught of Living Death. Otherwise the pain from mending her skeleton would overwhelm her nervous system."

"What of him?" Harry pointed at Phorcis.

Pomfrey Summoned another set of vials.

"His kind are remarkably resilient, as well you know, Mr. Jones."

The Healer poured two of the vials' contents down the vampire's throat, then conjured a black shroud and draped it over him. She turned finally to Terry Boot.

"What is this? A Severing Curse! Mr. Jones, I demand an explanation."

Harry's face darkened. "This oaf attacked Luna and Phorcis. I punished him, as is my right."

"Mr. Jones, you have no such authority in this school! _Expecto patronum_!"

Three silvery birds winged away from Pomfrey's wand tip. Minutes later, the Headmistress, the Deputy Headmaster, and the Head of Gryffindor marched into the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Severus Snape headed immediately toward the three patients. After a brief scan, the Potions Master gave Luna and Phorcis no further thought, but strode purposely toward Terry Boot. A strange melodic charm spilled from Snape's thin sallow lips as his wand wove an intricate pattern above Boot's wounds. Another flick of his wand Summoned a round jar. As his deft potion-stained fingers applied the salve, Snape's fathomless orbs transfixed Harry where he stood.

The green-eyed brunet knew better than to resist his Head of House's Legilimency.

_I'm sorry sir, for allowing my emotions to rule me_.

_Do not apologize to me. It was you who trained the general public to certain expectations_.

_You will support my expulsion_. It was not a question.

_That depends on your explanation_. Snape widened the scope of his probe.

This time Harry Occluded stalwartly.

_As you wish, Jones. We shall revisit the issue later_.

"As much as it pains me to say it, this merits expulsion." concluded Madam Pomfrey her report.

"I fully agree, Poppy." McGonagall's brogue was heavy with disappointment.

"Unfortunately we have graver matters to tend to right now. Death Eaters have attacked Gringotts. They managed to cause considerable damage before being repelled."

Pomfrey's hands flew to her mouth.

"That's not all." added Lupin somberly.

"Octavia Ríos just Portkeyed back to St. Mungo's from mainland Europe. Voldemort attacked Durmstrang. The students are fine, but Igor Karkaroff was not so fortunate."

"Mr. Jones's presence is required immediately, Madam." stated Snape curtly, a breath after Lupin.

* * *

Fury and disappointment twisted the visages gathered at the Hogwarts Head Office.

"The Goblin Nation did not foresee this brazen attack against our foremost institution." declared Griphook.

"Really, sir Goblin! Your Nation allied with us at Council! How could you _not_ foresee such an act marking you as an enemy in the eyes of He Who Must Not Be Named?" Amelia Bones was incensed.

Tomoe derailed the argument. "_The Abomination is owed no courtesy here._"

"We shall keep that in mind, Lady Tomoe." replied a grateful Minerva McGonagall.

Griphook continued, seemingly unperturbed. "Even the Dark Ones require the services of Gringotts Bank. Their thoughtless action jeopardized their own best interests."

"Fortunately our combined forces sustained no loss of life, sir Goblin. We must thank you for loosing your fabled dragons into the fray." replied Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Griphook shifted uncomfortably. "We would much rather not have so compromised the security of our charges."

"_The Serpents much thank you, Elder, for restoring our Ancient Ones. Now we are truly of one blood, our two kindreds together._" interjected Tomoe solemnly.

"We are of one blood, our two kindreds together." reciprocated Griphook.

"Duly noted, sir Goblin and Lady Tomoe. Kingsley?" Minerva McGonagall swiftly brought attention back to the debriefing.

"The Death Eaters abandoned their wounded comrades Mr. Gibbons and Mr. Travers. Travers finished Gibbons off, then turned his own wand upon himself. Voldemort now commands less than a dozen Death Eaters.

"On our side, all Gringotts wounded are in stable condition and expected to recover completely within days. The new Hospital for Non-Humans has surpassed all expectations."

"Of course it did!" snapped Rufus Scrimgeour.

The Minister of Magic shook his fist at Griphook. "We have duly fulfilled every single one of our obligations! We legally recognized the equality of all magical beings! Cleared the Ministry of Death Eater plants! Approved every single land grant request! We've kept our word!"

"Minister, please. Recriminations do not help us." chided McGonagall.

"_Fine_." growled Rufus Scrimgeour. "But I demand an answer about Azkaban, at the very least!"

"Have the soul-suckers been cast out? Not even the Eaters of Carrion will deign cross their trail." queried Bane of the Centaurs.

"Yes, Herdmaster." replied Kingsley. "The Dementors have abandoned Azkaban Prison, and no longer respond to the Ministry. They now obey Lord Voldemort." he finished somberly.

"_Lord Brehas sends word that our People as well as the children of Web-mother Rasag consent to your earlier request, to act as wardens, Auror. The rest of the Eaters of Flesh shall soon follow._"

Remus Lupin nodded at Tomoe's words.

"Please convey the most heartfelt gratitude of the Ministry of Magic to Lord Brehas and Lady Rasag, as well as to any others who may consent to aid us, Lady Tomoe, Remus." replied Kingsley formally.

Griphook hesitated before adding, "The Goblin Nation will henceforth cooperate fully with your People also, Auror Shacklebolt."

"Magnificent news." enthused Minerva McGonagall. Then the Headmistress cleared her throat, and frowned toward Harry.

"What news of Igor Karkaroff?"

* * *

The Headmistress addressed Harry, but the question was for the mongoose curled on his lap. Octavia reluctantly landed on human feet. Shame radiated clearly from her dark gaze.

"I reached Headmaster Karkaroff too late. He did not survive. I am sorry."

"Don't tell me, Healer, that you did not expect He...V-Vol... _him_... to hide behind an innocent." Scrimgeour tone was glacial.

Octavia closed her eyes tightly, and gritted her teeth.

"The Abomination... dared... to interfere!" she bit out.

Rufus Scrimgeour shot to his feet.

"We are DOOMED if you keep NOT EXPECTING THE OBVIOUS!" The Minister's baleful glare included Griphook. "ARE WE ALLIES OR NOT?"

Octavia trembled. "The blood-feud is between me and the Tainted One! The Law bars the Abomination from our duels!" she protested.

"The Minister is right to be angry." McGonagall interjected sternly. "He-Who... och! _Voldemort_ respects _no_ laws or traditions. Unless we _all_ accept this and plan accordingly, we are wasting precious time, endangering all we have worked for... _and acting no better than Albus Dumbledore_."

"The Law grants primacy to my challenge!" wailed Octavia.

* * *

Bane gazed outside. The evening sky was visible in all its glory through the high windows. The centaur chieftain reflected on the signature gift of his kind. Long a tribe of stargazers, attuned to the greater cycles of the universe, the half-humans, half-horses had perhaps the clearest sight of all magical beings.

The Council of All Kindreds had been but a beginning. Much more than a few moons and the penchant of Mars for yoking strange bed-mates would suffice to clear eons of enmity. He spared a moment's pity for the young Animagus: her attempts at dissembling were rather silly. Discreetly he eyed Tomoe: in and out her forked tongue flicked, as she scrutinized her human nestling—that singular foal whom all Wild Kindreds revered. The young shoulders strained, weighted down by some awful secret.

What else could it be, but that human passions had thwarted the wisdom of the wilderness? Why else would a Serpent Slayer, proudest of hunters, debase herself thus?

Bane's eyes traveled further. There, back against wall, ever wary of sudden menace, stood the dark chief of that clan of serpents and humans, long bound in braids of blood-oaths. Human and non-human eyes met, both sets equally fathomless mirrors of the night sky.

Snape nodded imperceptibly.

Bane called Octavia's bluff.

"The Heir of Slytherin also knows the Man-Eater's Right."

It was the last straw for Rufus Scrimgeour.

* * *

"THIS IS PREPOSTEROUS! YOU THROW OUR FAULTS IN OUR FACE, BEING NO BETTER YOURSELVES! THAT COUNCIL WAS A SHAM!" roared the Minister of Magic.

Bane lunged to restore the balance he had tipped.

"Peace. Let no more shameful words be uttered here."

The centaur chieftain's solemn inflection roused Fawkes the phoenix. The flaming bird soared round the chamber, exerting the soothing power of his soft, melodious trill.

"Hark, oh hark!" intoned Remus.

"_So mote it be._" sentenced Tomoe, eying both Bane and Severus Snape. Here was a human tangle to unravel.

Madam Bones had no such powers of detection, but she knew Rufus Scrimgeour had never forgiven Harry's ploy at the Council.

"It is only fair that we receive an explanation, Herdmaster."

The centaur gazed again at the firmament.

"At Council, our Peoples tied themselves into your Death-Knot against the Abomination. Your hunting is our hunting. Our trails are one. That word was truly spoken.

"Yet long was the sundering between humans and the Kindreds; bitter our quarrels for lair- and hunting-right. When it came to pass that humans prevailed, you took what you willed: You drove us from our wild homes, tore down mountain and forest, turned green pastures to desert, dared to mark us as slaves.

"Ill-met it would have been, had we not waited, until we were certain you would not stray from the trail, before rushing headlong beside you."

Fawkes perched strategically on the back of Scrimgeour's chair, and gripped the man's shoulder with a golden talon.

"You are right, Herdmaster." granted Madam Bones. "In the past, we humans have behaved worse than He Who... _Voldemort_. In fact, he is most certainly a product of our twisted ways. But we can't stay in the past. The mistrust must end here and now. I believe Lady Tomoe, Lord Brehas and Mr. Jones put it best at Council: _We must move as one_."

Bane gave Madam Bones a rare smile.

"Well you have spoken, Elder, and so shall it be."

All other non-humans bowed in unison. Bane's eyes fixed on Octavia.

"The Wild Kindreds roamed unchallenged for as many moons as there are stars in the sky—ages before humans dreamed of rising upon two legs. Thus the Law grants us right of blood-price. In return, the Law forbids us to hunt humans, that the loathsome circle be broken. Man-Eaters are cast out, marked for death. But the right of blood-price remains, for it was granted first.

"Serpent Slayer: You invoked the Law yourself before the Council, against the Poison-kin who welcomed the taint of Abomination. Most bewildering it is, that but a few moons later, you should have forgotten the whole of it."

Bane turned to Harry.

"Even stranger it is—O Two-Legged Foal Who Walks Freely Among the Wild Kindreds—that if your mate forgot this wisdom in the rush of the hunt, _you_ did not remind her."

* * *

Scrimgeour stared at Harry as if seeing him for the first time. A feral grin slowly formed on the Minister's face. He shook off Fawkes's hold.

"Why, Mr. Jones, wasn't it you who... allayed my concerns, and enjoined me to quick action before the Council?" He sneered at Octavia. "As for you, Healer Ríos, I expected more professionalism from one so highly recommended."

Harry seized his fiancee by a wrist. "Tavi, love..."

The Animagus abandoned all pretense. "¡_Todo es tu culpa_!"

Harry jerked his head sharply in their audience's direction. He locked eyes with Octavia.

_Love, listen to me, please..._

_You betrayed me, Harry! You betrayed your sworn life-mate! _

_I had to stop you, Tavi. Voldemort would have killed you._

_I am a Serpent Slayer! Both would have bitten the dust! The Durmstrang Headmaster would yet live!_

_I only wanted more time with you._

_WHAT?_

_I have tried to tell you since the Council, Tavi... I must have burned a thousand parchments... I could not get the words out..._

_What is this tangle you weave now, Harry? Is it not enough that you broke the Law? Thanks to you the Abomination and the Tainted One still draw breath! I am dishonored before these Elders! How could you?_

_ Tavi... Tom isn't yours to slay._

_You lie to your life-mate!_

_Love... Listen to me, please... Nagini is **not** the last._

_No... no... NO._

_Look at me, Tavi. You know what must be._

_Vengeance is mine, Harry my mate._

_I'm counting on it, love._

* * *

Severus Snape recognized the moment of resolution.

"I believe Mr. Jones has something of import to clarify. Something he did not reveal to us when he _should_ have." drawled the Potions Master.

"WHAT?" Madam Bones lost her patience.

Fawkes unleashed his song. Remus Lupin climbed wearily to his feet.

"Mr. Jones has not been himself for quite some time—since the Council, in fact. His disposition steadily deteriorated, until he dispensed even with the most elementary courtesy. Earlier tonight, his actions transgressed human law.

"I should have probed the matter further at first notice. I cannot apologize enough for my oversight."

"Nonsense, Lupin." said Snape dismissively. "Mr. Jones simply acted his age—and species—for once." The Potions Master smirked. "Besides, was it not agreed that the Joneses' part in this war was over?"

Everyone shifted uncomfortably. Minerva McGonagall seized control.

"We have _all_ erred in one way or another. Let us learn form it, and put the rest behind us." she said sternly, before adopting a more compassionate tone.

"Mr. Jones, please speak up. You are well aware of all that is at stake." The Headmistress glanced outside. "The hour grows late."

Snape prodded his student more forcefully.

"I suspect that Albus's last request has some bearing in this."

Madam Bones shook her head. "Mr. Jones, the courtesy due the dead cannot possibly apply here!"

Still Harry said nothing. Tomoe slithered over.

"_Sa. Must the whole Forest suffer for one blighted tree, nestling mine? Shall a dead Elder rule living hunters?_"

Harry's eyes were bright with tears. "_Not a dead fool, but my human weakness._"

Tomoe laid her head on a hunched shoulder. "_Having cast the skin we do not creep into it afresh._"

"_Ai! I would take my Tavi, and run far away, somewhere we could grow old together, unknown and forgotten._"

The python's eyes flashed crimson. Harry nearly fell over backwards in his shock.

"_By the First Egg! Is this the Man-cub who feared to lose his human soul to the Wild?_" she spat. "_Look well! He has become too human for his own good!_"

The python rose upon her coils.

"_The Hidden Ones taught you better than this! Snivel no more! Call upon the Wild Kindreds as Hunt-Master of the Forest! Let the Hosts and the Herds bring the Abomination down!_"

The great triangular head swiveled around, taking in the whole gathering, stopping meaningfully at each human visage.

"_In fact, no great loss it would be, should we bring their walls down—they who would rule all that lives! Oh yes, nestling mine!_" she crooned. "_Humans can do worse than you as Master_."

This time Harry did knock his chair backward, so quickly he jumped to his feet.

"_Never! Humans must rule themselves! All Kindreds must rule themselves! It is the Law!_"

Tomoe crooned in pleasure at the success of her ploy.

"_So you __**do**__ know better!_ _Remember the whole of the Law then, my nestling, and ever follow it truly!_"

Snape's lips twitched as Harry jutted his chin and squared his shoulders.

"Ah, trust the Brood-Mother to penetrate the skull that defies the rest of us. Headmistress, I believe we have need of your Pensieve."

* * *

McGonagall Summoned the device from its resting place. Harry raised his wand tip to his temple. A heavy, roiling memory oozed into the charmed vessel. The assembly had witnessed most of its content repeatedly during the Renegade Trials.

Except for the parting words of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

"Listen closely, Harry! Despite your hatred of me, do not interrupt!" admonished the deposed Headmaster's shade. "Miss Ríos's errand will not suffice to finish Tom, even should she succeed."

A chorus of strangled gasps met this pronouncement.

"On the day Lord Voldemort tried to kill you, when Lily threw her life between him and you, the Killing Curse rebounded on Voldemort, and a shard of his mangled soul broke off without his knowing—a shard which then latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsing building."

Hands flew to mouths, postures stiffened in horror.

"Part of Voldemort lives within you, Harry, protected by Lily's sacrifice. Until it is destroyed, Voldemort cannot die. This is why you can speak to snakes, and share a connection with Tom, which you have never really understood."

Snape's eyes bulged. Tomoe's bulk thudded to the floor. Octavia shrieked wordlessly. No sound emerged from Fawkes.

"I am terribly sorry, Harry. You must die, and Voldemort himself must do it. It is the only way. _The only way_."

The specter of Albus Dumbledore seemed to solidify as his words echoed, imbued as it was with the old wizard's final act of power, impelled by the need for his message to endure in its target's mind. The piercing eyes shone cerulean as they speared Harry, who could not meet them. The phantasm seemed to suck all air, rendering it impossible to speak or draw breath as it loomed.

Against that casting of undeniable Darkness rang a wordless roar of defiance. Octavia Ríos raised her wand. The mongoose Patronus sprang forth, its mercury radiance blinding. Fangs bared, the Serpent Slayer chased away the harbinger of ill omen, the staccato clicking of her teeth exorcising the merciless reverberation of its death knell.


	15. The Sea Witch

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended_.

* * *

**The Dungeon Books**

**Chapter Fifteen: The Sea Witch**

_These were my companions, going forth by night..._

_It is only fitting_, thought Diane Jones, _that the end of a trail so twisted upon itself should be its very beginning_. Even more appropriate, given the presumptuousness of their enemies: _the serpent that swallows its own tail_.

The dignified woman, warrior till the end, stood poised before her sitting room window, muscles taut with readiness, binoculars in one hand, the other shading her eyes: her glittering orbs were lost in contemplation of the sunset. The sky bled profusely as if from a mortal wound; the shroud of incoming twilight stifling the last bravely pulsing shards of the day star. Now her senses pricked, the wisps of magic in her core, love-gift from her adopted son, stirred from the nearness of greater power. Diane needed no gift of Seeing, to know the time had come. The wildest of her latent wishes was about to be granted. Her lips curved, slightly parted; there was a suppressed panting as her tongue licked her upper lip briefly, then retreated, leaving only the glint of her canines, so very like those of a she-wolf with the moonlight upon them.

_Battle was at hand_.

"The Lame One and his jackals... Here they come."

Irwin Jones stood up from beside the small cache of weapons cleaned, loaded, and sorted in the appropriate order according to their battle plans. The modern firearms would come first, before the enemy's magic disabled them entirely. Then, out of earlier times, the ballista, modestly sized—a backyard was no great battlefield—yet perfectly calibrated. Finally, the age-old implements of the ancestral hunt: arrow and crossbow bolt, mace and finely tempered blade.

Irwin too licked his lips as he fingered the throwing knives belted across his chest; his smile grim and feral as he adjusted the quiver at his back, excitement stretching taut his every nerve and sinew as he ran a loving hand across the curvature of his bow. Privet Drive was empty but for them: despite the containment efforts of the Ministry of Magic, the neighbors had begun selling after the attack on Number Four—no one wished to stay in a place so mysteriously become of interest to terrorists. Overconfident in their eldritch power, the enemy would not be expecting such foresight from lowly Muggles: that something of the Wild which humans would never lose. Self-preservation instinct.

The better for all involved.

* * *

_For me, look you, for me..._

Not a further breath did the mighty reptile waste on the piteous spectacle of her wayward human hatchling. Twenty feet of coiled muscle slithered away from the Hogwarts Head Office with awesome speed belying their ponderousness. The trail was familiar for Tomoe, whose guardianship of Slytherin House remained uncontested since she claimed it. Now she angled, a supreme marksman's arrow, toward the Forbidden Lake.

Murkus of the Mer-folk awaited the rock python at the farthest shore of the lake. The Mer-chieftainess had absented herself from the war council; she had no need of the gifts of the hoofed stargazers to ascertain the gathering's degeneration into meaningless squabble. Tomoe of the Serpents would report to the water-folk should items of importance be addressed. Here came the legless one now, her whole carriage an advertisement of the futility of the proceedings Murkus had disdained.

A nod from Tomoe confirmed the mer-queen's assessment. Into the depths Murkus dove with the grace and purpose of her kind. Python in tow, the mermaid rode the subterranean waterways toward her ancestral realm—the ocean, cradle of all life, vastest unchallenged domain of the Wild Kindreds. The water-folk too, had a stake in the conflict against Tom Riddle. No wielder of that unnatural bane of all living beings—labeled Dark Arts by the biped apes, to whom absence of light symbolized death—could be permitted to ascend to power.

Two decades prior, the Hidden Clans of Ocean had discovered a foul place in their domains near British shores, a poisoned abode ever vomiting pollution upon the surrounding waters. Thither rested an army of Inferi—dead humans, reanimated against the Law by the wizard Riddle, the Abomination. After the failed attack on the Potter humans, when the stargazers foretold the Abomination's second rise, the water-folk took immediate measures.

Another lay imprisoned within the Inferi lair, a concealed sentinel against the heinous threat: a daughter of the Hidden Clans, exiled to this alien northern shore from her far southeastern haunts, in penalty for her vicious attacks on humans helpless against the tempestuous fury of the sea. It was a golden chance at redemption—an Unbreakable Vow bound her to protect those she had so harrowed before: to undo the deeds which had damned her in the first place. Now that Voldemort had loosed his Inferi, the menace stealthily creeping across the land toward the Forbidden Forest and Hogwarts, the time had come to fulfill the Deep Ones' end of that old deal.

Murkus and Tomoe entered the forsaken cavern unchallenged. The Inferi's absence was palpable, their putrid influence waning. The mermaid queen's torso rose above the silent waters; throwing back her head, she screeched a ritual call unto the air.

The rock wall directly facing them shuddered, groaned, yawned open explosively like the strike of a great beast's maw. Noise ebbed and dust settled, and a body crept forth from the stony wound. At first glance it seemed another Inferius, a straggler from Voldemort's horde: an emaciated humanoid shape, every bone protruding from its fungous sheath of wasted flesh. The visage, a sallow mask of devastation, retained a vague hint of femininity. A few thin strings of mouldered gray still hung from the battered skull. Yet it drew breath, unlike a true Inferius: an awesome testimony to the creature's power, for magic alone had sustained its life for long years.

The ghastly apparition crawled, slowly but resolutely, toward the lake. Mid-plunge its shape began to alter: limbs shortened; flippers replaced hands and feet; spine lengthened; an insulating layer of fat wove itself around the cylindrical body; the skull elongated, forming a pointed snout crowned with whiskers and seeded with a carnivore's signature dentition. Silvery gloss enveloped the creature, obliterating sickly pallor, and twin rubies glittered with intelligence and defiance from within large orbs. Elated at her freedom, the sea lioness frolicked heedlessly, until another screech from Murkus rent the air. The curse froze the sea witch mid-jump, and hurled her, human once more, into the rubble of her former prison.

"It is most discourteous, mermaid," spat the former specter, "to spite one you have need of, however despicable you may find her."

A charmed bubble shimmered into existence around Murkus, rendering her speech intelligible to the witch.

"I remember well the day we brought you here, Kalea daughter of Rahab. Arrogant to the last, foul curses foaming from your rabid maw. It is satisfying to see that madness vanquished."

The sea witch glowered.

"Yet you've finally raised me. Whither roams my quarry? I wish to be done with that hunting."

"You shall not." An arm halted the witch's protest. "That fate belongs to the Hunt-Master."

"Yes," nodded Murkus. "One of human blood, yet raised under the Law. He was brought before the Hidden Ones, and learned at the feet of the Great Elders. He even attracted the attentions of a Serpent Slayer, who chose him for a life-mate. He remains young, however, and has tangled his trail most foolishly. You shall be his guide, and his protector."

Kalea barked a laugh in cynical disbelief.

"_I_ am to aid a Hunt-Master?"

"_Sa. Lost in the tangle the twain shall be._" sneered the hitherto silent Tomoe.

The sea witch whirled toward the python, crimson eyes blazing.

"_Mock me not, Land-Serpent! I am no hatchling!_"

Tomoe reeled, astonished at the sound of Parseltongue. The sea witch chortled.

"_Surprised, serpent? Twas your sea-brethren that taught me the Speech—that and much more does the Scourge of Bass Strait know._"

"Enough!" cut Murkus imperiously.

The mermaid instructed the sea witch. "Your chance of redemption has come at last, Kalea daughter of Rahab. _Here's an end of every trail_..."

"_And here my hosts are fed_." finished quoting Kalea, shaking her head wearily. "That is, if the Eaters of Carrion will deign to answer my call, after so many years."

"O, they will!" exulted Murkus. "Well you fed them, and they never forget a gorged gullet. Let us be on our way."

Murkus dispersed her bubble with another sharp gesture, while yet another allowed Kalea to morph back into a sea lioness. Tomoe gathered a great breath. The three dove into the ocean, and followed the currents back toward the Forbidden Lake, and Voldemort's threat.

* * *

_Now come I to whistle them the ending of the fight..._

"You have fought bravely: Lord Voldemort honors bravery. Yield; surrender Harry Potter unto me, and your lives shall be spared. It is I, Lord Voldemort, who speaks."

Irwin Jones could not help a snicker, swiftly smothered against a sleeve. _The crazy chap is impressed, as well he should be_. Two of his henchmen lay in broken heaps, blood pooling round them upon the ground, brothers by their looks: one with more holes than a colander, the other harpooned off his broom and dashed to the ground like offal. The others all sported nasty cuts and bruises under tattered cloaks and cracked masks. These had retreated prudently, leaving their "lord" alone to clean up the mess.

_It was quite good hunting_.

That thought made Irwin glance sideways at his wife. His beloved Diane, fearsome in her battle fury, adrenalin masking the strain and weariness in her frame. How many years had they been together? It seemed like centuries, more so after the advent of their extraordinary son.

_I have reason to be maudlin_, thought Irwin grimly. He had no illusions: the disfigured megalomaniac would slaughter them. Moreover, the Joneses could not take Riddle with them; not without ruining every scrap of strategy Harry and his allies had come up with. Irwin closed his eyes, deepened his breaths, summoned his fondest memories.

Irwin had always known he would be a soldier, and a trainer of soldiers. _If __you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs..._ He would forge his mind into a finely tempered blade; mold and sculpt his flesh to reach the highest limits imposed by nature. _If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew __to serve your turn long after they are gone..._ He would likewise discipline his emotions, be neither stone nor quicksand. _If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch..._ Above all, however, he would live truly, joyously, fully. _If you can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds' worth of distance run..._

Irwin smiled inwardly: both he and his wife shared the same source of inspiration. No wonder Diane had chosen him for a mate—much like young Octavia had chosen Harry. Both elder Joneses had stirred to their marrow with _d__é__j__à__ vu_ at the sight of the young witch, pursuing the reticent Harry with such single-minded tenacity that Harry hadn't known what hit him, until his heart thrashed like a hooked fish at the thought of bidding Octavia farewell, likely forever, when duty called the Joneses back to Britain.

_Indeed, it has been bloody brilliant, quoth my dearest son. But now... to shift hunting grounds, quoth my redoubtable, deeply beloved Diane-my very own Diana the Huntress, who must yet live, for our son's sake._

Irwin slung his quiver off silently. Equally quietly he unstrapped his knife belts and other weapon sheaths: they would only hinder him in his final strike. The ruckus when he bowled Voldemort over would buy his wife time enough to escape.

Diane, however, was having none of that.

"And it is I, Diane, who answers! Harry is mine, Riddle, _mine to me_! Get back to the hole you crawled from under, you miserable spoor of a jackal—or I shall do my son's work for him. I'll tear off your wretched hide, drape it over an ottoman, and rest my feet upon it!"

Irwin had to grant it to his formidable wife: _she had balls_. But... taunting a psychopath who could snuff her life with two words—which the bastard was beginning to utter just now? _Time to act_. One, two, three steps, each one of increasing speed, each adding power to the next. A high forward leap, tucking his limbs close in, head aligned with his target, just like a bucking buffalo, like a stampeding rhino, like a cannonball, all its fury and force directed toward the threat, the enemy, the Abomination.

Diane saw Voldemort's wand slash the air, heard his thin cold drawl utter the Killing Curse. She felt the lethal green jet scorch the air as it hurtled toward her, but did not deign to flinch. Death, the lot of all living beings, was not something Diane Jones feared nor retreated from. She would welcome it triumphantly.

Tonight she did not have to.

In the millisecond between _Avada_ and _kedavra_, another life sprang forth, sacrificing itself to lengthen hers. Deep earthy eyes locked with beloved lighter ones as they sped by. Diane saw the spark leave them, as her warrior husband's last declaration of love thundered in her ears, borne on his last breath. Irwin's body slammed into Tom Riddle's with the force of a battering ram, and the Dark Lord Voldemort relived the humiliating irony of being thwarted by a supposedly helpless victim. Riddle's wand flew in a soaring arc as he crashed backwards, feet flying, thin neck snapping, grotesque head meeting the ground with a wet crack; and not stopping there, as the momentum behind Irwin's dead weight drove him several meters further into a tree trunk, scouring a telltale furrow in the unyielding, summer-baked soil.

"IRWIN!"

It was all she had time to utter, before her body seized with _pain, pain, pain_. Bellatrix Lestrange's insane cackle was completely unnecessary. Diane knew very well that she had cast the Unforgivable Cruciatus Curse, seeking revenge for the deaths of her kinsmen Rodolphus and Rabastan.

Just as abruptly the torture paused. Booted feet arranged themselves in a circle around Diane. Wands were being drawn. The Death Eaters were about to toy with their prey; try to break her before the end. Bellatrix cackled once more.

"Miserable Muggle filth! We'll teach you to defy our lord!"

Diane's battle rage inflamed her anew. She struggled to her feet.

"Oh?" she drawled nastily. "And how do you propose to do that? I mean, seeing as the murdering freak is eating dirt over there, trampled like a cheap Halloween decoration?"

Bellatrix howled, incapable of stringing word or thought together in any semblance of an effective curse. Diane's lightning-quick reflexes sparked into action: like a whirlwind she spun, a volley of throwing knives radiating outwards. Grunts and gasps indicated her success. So sweet it was, though regrettably short-lived.

"Together, you fools!"

Antonin Dolohov rallied the battered and bewildered Death Eaters. The ordeal of Diane Jones began in earnest.

Diane found herself undergoing the curious phenomena of dissociation. Above the foul spectacle of her gruesome torment she hovered, witnessing the snapping of her bones, the tearing of her flesh, the collapse of her internal organs, the searing of her blood. Automatically, impassively, she cataloged the growing list of grievous injuries. Many times, during her years as a combat nurse, she had heard accounts of such experiences. She could not suppress an otherworldly chuckle, a reaction denied her cruelly seizing body, but weirdly available to her disembodied consciousness. Next came outright laughter, born of fierce pride in her physical self, for it would not give her enemies the satisfaction of reading defeat in its stony expression, or hearing it from her ravaged throat. No, her flesh and blood, _heart and nerve and sinew served her turn long after they'd gone_, just like her beloved Irwin's, in his charge against Tom Riddle.

Speaking of Riddle, there he was, finally digging himself from under Irwin's carcass, taking advantage of the diverted interest of his henchmen to fetch his wand and smooth himself over before joining them. How predictable this coward, this _Shere Khan_ of her adopted son's tale; and how she rejoiced, knowing his end would be precisely as predictable, and that it hurtled toward him even now. Harry would be merciless in his vengeance.

Reinforcements arrived. Diane recognized the Wizarding law enforcers. Some of them, she had the pleasure of meeting personally; others, Harry had merely pointed out. Kingsley Shacklebolt, stately as a lion. Alastor Moody, savage as a Kodiak grizzly. Nymphadora Tonks, steel wrapped in satin—a young antelope, not expected to know how to wield hoof and horn and blinding speed. Gawain Robards, grim as a bloodhound. Dawlish, often mocked for his less than stellar investigative skills, but good enough a file soldier under an able commander.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size, you bloody sniveling bastards?"

The unmistakable, jaunty drawl of Sirius Black, whom Harry had once named _Baloo_. Absent was the playfulness he embraced life with, or the solemnity he affected when imparting wisdom he did not always remember to apply in his own life. His eyes blazed, promising death, and Diane was touched that he should be so vehemently incensed on her behalf—she who had once utterly despised him.

Diane's bodiless reverie ended in welcome surcease. Sirius rushed to her side and grasped her hands in his. Diane saw Black's lips move, his frame become taut with effort: he was taking her pain unto himself, stabilizing her waste of a carcass until it was safe to move it. The Death Eaters and their Dark Lord had fled. Sirius's strong arms lifted Diane impossibly gently; held her close in preamble to that magical mode of transport that always disoriented her, as jet lag never did.

"Hold on!" prayed Sirius, face awash with tears, teeth gritted against the pain he was enduring for her sake. "Don't you dare let go. You hear me, you pig-headed, adder-tongued, Slytherin-loving, dearest old bat? _Don't you dare_!"

Diane twitched her shredded lips in a parody of a grin, before succumbing to unconsciousness.

* * *

_Mine! Vanguards of mine!_

Healer Poppy Pomfrey swore quite expansively as the peace and quiet of her domain were abolished by yet another emergency. Her oaths ended when she beheld the roster of casualties, and learned their provenance battle. Ghostly avian shapes shot from her wand, winging madly toward the Hogwarts Head Office.

Lamentably little had changed within the highest turret of Hogwarts Castle. Around the conference table, Bane of the Centaurs still looked to the firmament for answers. Griphook of the Goblin Nation radiated silent smugness. Minerva McGonagall, Rufus Scrimgeour and Amelia Bones were locked in ruthless struggle of Legilimantic glares. Only Remus Lupin and Severus Snape had abandoned their stations to surround the anguished Harry Jones and Octavia Ríos—the Gryffindor to soothe; the Slytherin to chastise. Frustrated with the impasse, Fawkes the phoenix had made a show of returning to his perch, and tucking head under wing.

The nightingale Patronuses broke the stalemate with their urgent trills. Poppy Pomfrey's message was curt but dire, summoning Potions Master and Healer to the Hospital Wing, where a life dear to both teetered at the edge of the abyss. Obsidian and hazel orbs sought and found each other. All reproaches were forgotten as Head of Slytherin and Serpent Slayer moved as one, marched resolutely out the door, down the spiral staircase, past the gargoyle guardian and on toward the Hospital Wing.

"Professor..." Octavia briskly wiped all offending moisture off her face.

"Severus."

Octavia stifled the urge to gape.

"Severus, then." she cleared her throat. "I must apologize for my abject lapse of all rationality."

"No need. Your mere instant of puerile stupidity diminishes in importance rather drastically, once compared with the greater scheme of things."

"It was _not_ a mere instant."

"It is _now_."

They had arrived at their destination. Snape flung open the doors with a flick of his wand. So far Octavia had matched both Snape's ground-eating stride and his curt demeanor. As her eyes discerned the identity of a particular patient in critical condition—and of the lifeless body immediately beside, forever frozen in the proud and fearsome pose of a charging, snarling, indomitable predator—ice cold sweat and violent tremors broke all over the mongoose Animagus's body. The Potions Master grabbed her shoulders; turned her around; drew her close; steadied her. Snape's voice was soft, kind, and compassionate as he released the young Healer.

"We must set our emotions aside; now more than ever, Octavia. Diane needs us. _Go_."

Squaring her shoulders, clenching her fists, biting down on her lower lip, marshaling all the resources of her magic and training, Healer Octavia Ríos entered the fray.

After long and grueling hours, Octavia succeeded in postponing Diane's journey to the other side of the Veil, if only for a limited time, not longer than a month. Still it was testament to her skill, and welcome vindication after her failure with Karkaroff. A hand at her shoulder woke her; she had not realized she had fallen asleep.

"Well done, Octavia." Snape's voice was warm with praise.

A tray floated up to her. Octavia plowed into it, depleted after the long struggle.

"Thanks, Severus." she murmured, slowing down. "What about you?"

"I already ate. My task was not as dire."

"Any more... f-fatalities?" Octavia's voice broke.

Snape placed a hand upon one of hers.

"The Lestrange brothers, Death Eaters. On our side, just..."

"Irwin. O Circe... Harry."

"The Lady Tomoe restrained him, while I dosed him with Draught of Living Death."

Octavia's eyes glinted red.

"As soon as I have rested, we shall hunt down the Abomination. You will _not_ try to stop us."

"That will not be necessary. The Dark Lord is on his way. With an army of Inferi, Dementors, and renegade giants, I might add."

"_You went to him_?"

Snape shuddered.

"Of course not. An ally brought us the information."

"Another spy?"

"An agent of the Wild Kindreds." Snape drew a vial from his robe. "Dreamless Sleep. We will speak more later."

Octavia made to protest, but a _look_ from the beetle-black eyes stopped her in her tracks.

* * *

_Word they gave me overhead of quarry newly slain..._

Harry struggled with sleep. It was not natural; that much he could tell. Someone had slipped him a potion. _An enemy_? No; they'd been trying to stop him. _Stop him from doing what_? It was all hazy, but he could almost reach it...

"_Enervate_. Rise 'n' shine, matey. There's much t' do."

Everything came back like a tornado, but before he could jump off the narrow hospital bed, familiar coils tightened their hold, rendering him immobile.

"_Release me, Tomoe!_"

"_She will do no such thing._"

Harry ceased his efforts, bewildered. He scouted his surroundings hurriedly, half-expecting Voldemort to be his captor. He shook away the foolish idea. He recognized the Hospital Wing, but this was not the main floor. Obviously they had isolated him; he had gone nutters when they'd told him...

"Mum! Dad! Please let me go!"

"Sorry, chappy. Won't do no good, y'know. Enemy'll use it against you."

Harry finally looked for the owner of the other voice. On the single chair beside his bed sat a strange woman, spindly thin, long of arm and leg, with a look of hunger about her, as if she had very recently ended a long fast. She wore a silvery robe that seemed grown from her body, secreted by her own skin. Harry thought, at first, that the robe was cowled, and that the stranger hadn't uncovered her head despite being indoors. On closer inspection he realized her hair was the same silver-gray shade as her weird garment. Then he met her eyes, and gulped. They were_ red_.

"Who...?"

The stranger laughed, a sound almost like a bark.

"My name, not that it'll mean anything to you, is Kalea. I'm here to help you defeat the one called... how is it? Ah, yes. Voldemort. Made up name, right?"

"I don't need any help. Voldemort's mine."

"I'm not arguing that, matey. But he won't be sauntering up to you all like a noble gent; issue a challenge and keep it 'tween the two o' ya. He's got an army, and you'll have to get past it first. That's where I come in."

Harry snorted.

"What's so special about you? The People of the Forest will not let the Death Eaters pass."

"Do you wish your precious Forest turned to ashes?"

"What are you on about?"

"That's what'll happen, y'know, when his undead army reaches your Forest. Fire _is_ the weapon of choice against Inferi."

"Damn. You say you have another way?"

"So I do. And they'll not be expecting it."

"Well spit it out! What _can_ you do, and why are you _not_ doing it, instead of sitting here _talking_!"

Kalea sprang from her chair, a fluid motion that carried her toward Harry until she was nose to nose with him, still managing to somehow loom over Harry, crimson eyes sparkling. The overpowering smell of seawater assaulted Harry's nostrils.

"What is an Inferi but ambulating carrion, Hunt-Master? A sumptuous banquet, for those with the appropriate taste buds. _As well you know_."

The sea witch was wondrously fingering the inky-black feather Harry wore, at the end of a small braid, to the side of his left temple.

"Oho! Kept it from becoming common knowledge, hmm? Why's that? It's no shame, y'know. Although it _does_ make for excellent joke material, in your case. Right, _Hunt-Master_?"

Harry blushed beet-red from toes to crown. Kalea smirked.

"The mermaid was right; ye _are_ but a pup. C'mon, they're having war council over brekkie, and I'm _starving_."

Kalea snapped her fingers, and Tomoe released her charge. The witch turned around while Harry dressed. A thought crossed Harry's mind.

"Didn't I hear you speak Parseltongue?"

"Yup. Learned it from sea serpents."

The witch paused, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Always been fashionable for a Dark mage to speak it."


End file.
